


Sketches of Islamabad (episodes 1-10)

by q_19



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_19/pseuds/q_19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>musings on season 4. some fill-in-the-blanks, additional scenes, post-eps etc.</p><p>this is s4e1-s4e10. (s4e11-s4e12 is a separate story, was too difficult to add to the start)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4.1.1

4.1.1

Quinn sits in the ambassador’s office, does his best to be polite while his head is somewhere in a bunker in Kabul. He’s annoyed at having to placate the ambassador yet again, wonders how the hell that job fell to him - he’s never been tasked with relationship management before, people were never part of his skill set. But Sandy is possibly worse at it than he is or he just doesn’t give a fuck. And Quinn’s pissed at Sandy but does his best not to show it, wonders for the millionth time what the station chief is up to, why he’s always MIA, providing lame excuses.

Of course things don’t improve when Sandy finally shows, and Quinn forces himself to just stand and grit his teeth. He does his best to tamp down the roil of emotion he feels as Sandy bullshits the ambassador, gives her the usual justifications, blows off the questions about dropping bombs in Pakistan’s sovereign air space. 

Quinn doesn’t really give a shit about Sandy, thinks his boss is too caught up in the cycle of destruction, lost to the realities of it all. The guy doesn’t seem to care about anything except black market intel and checking off the kill list; the accolades that follow a ‘successful’ drone run. So Quinn’s not surprised with the BS that Sandy spouts off, wonders if he actually believes it, if he’s that far gone. 

But if he’s honest about it Quinn knows he’s not really thinking about Sandy at all. He’s thinking about fate, about the shit that can’t be avoided. That a situation like this would come along after so many months trying to keep her out of his head. That he had purposefully placed himself in Islamabad because he’d be close enough if something did happen. 

And of course something happened. And if he’s still being honest Quinn knows the seal has already been broken, that fate and his own complicity have again shifted the path of his life. Because ever since the bomb run last night, since the news started the accusations in the morning, since the protesters showed up outside their door, there’s only been one thing on his mind. 

He wonders where she’s at with all this, if she’s alright, if bombing a farmhouse full of civilians has taken its toll. It mostly kills him to not know, to have to wonder about her state of mind, pick up clues from Sandy’s comments. And he knows it could go two ways, that Carrie is unpredictable at best, that he wasn’t even sure he knew her anymore by the time she’d left for Kabul. 

Quinn picks up the phone, looks at it with a frown. He’s never been one to run from a problem, avoid the things he needs to do. But he’s also never felt so torn about a single phone call, knows exactly the storm it will bring, feels it rising in his chest already. 

He sighs, looks at the phone again. Punches in a number he’s memorized but never dialed before. 

*

Carrie picks up the call, her head still on the carnage she just saw, the dead from the farmhouse she’d blown up. She tries to tell herself to let it go, that mistakes are made in war, that civilian casualties are a given, that it’s all the fault of the terrorists because she wouldn’t be dropping bombs if they weren’t plotting to kill innocents, destroy America.

“Hello,” she says, wondering who’s on the line to ream her out this time. 

“Carrie, it’s Quinn,” he replies. And hearing his voice, everything freezes for a nanosecond, and then she’s hit by a slow sadness in her sternum. Which is exactly what she’s been trying to defend herself against - the emotions that go along with the responsibility for so much death and pain. 

“Quinn,” she says, surprise evident in her voice. “Long time.” 

Carrie hears him breathe a sigh as she responds and she’s still not sure she wants to talk to him. Which is fitting considering the number of times she’s thought of calling him ever since she got to Kabul, especially after she found out he was in Islamabad. But she’s avoided it, never got the courage up to dial the number. Because what would she say? Not the truth - that she misses him, that she’s alone and unsure. She knew they would just end up arguing, that she would fuck it up and then wouldn’t be able to make amends. So it was better if she didn’t call at all. 

“Yeah,” he says in a tone she can’t read. 

“What a clusterfuck huh,” Carrie says, thinking that he’s only calling on orders, that he doesn’t sound very pleased to be talking to her. 

The truth is Carrie’s not sure how she feels about talking to him, feels both stress and relief picturing him on the other side. And she wants to tell him how glad she is he called but then remembers it’s just a business call, that Quinn doesn’t give a fuck about her personal shit. 

“How you holding up?” he asks. 

She’s surprised, thinks it’s unlike Quinn to ask about her before demanding the sitrep. Convinces herself he’s just being polite then reminds herself Quinn doesn’t bother with social conventions, especially with her. But she knows it’s dangerous to think that he still gives even half a shit about her so Carrie puts that thought away, scrunches it up and throws it back into the abyss.

“It was a Taliban spokesperson,” she replies with a sigh. “I’m trying not to get too worked up about it.” 

Carrie wonders if he hears the tiredness in her voice, the anxiety of the accusations, the subtle hint regarding her precarious mental health. And then she reminds herself he doesn’t give a fuck, that if he did he’d be in Kabul, that he deserted her when she needed him the most. Which are exactly the thoughts that drag her down the well, the thoughts that she barricades away deep in her mind so she can make it through the day, do her job. 

But the thoughts aren’t always as controllable as she would like, show up at inopportune moments - when she’s trying to sleep, whenever she’s not working. And now Quinn’s on the phone and Carrie knows she fucked up but doesn’t want to have to admit it to him. Because that would mean he was right all along, that Kabul was a bad idea, that she’s a bad person, someone he doesn’t want to be around. And with everything else going on she needs to believe that Quinn could still be on her side, that he doesn’t hate her too.

So she takes a breath, steels herself. Goes through all her justifications, knows she’ll have to convince him. Thinks maybe she will convince herself at the same time. 

*

“It was a Taliban spokesperson,” Carrie says. “I’m trying not to get too worked up about it.” 

Quinn pauses, tries to read between the lines, tells himself not to react to the twinge he hears in her voice, the one that tells him she is worked up, that she’s tired and struggling. Keep it to business, he tells himself even though his concern for Carrie is clearly more than professional. 

“Yeah, we have protesters outside the embassy here,” he replies, doing his best to stick with the script, keep it about work.

“They pull this shit all the time,” Carrie says, sounding aggravated. “If it wasn’t a wedding they’d say it was a mosque we hit. Or an orphanage. Or a mosque for orphans.”

Quinn feels a flicker at the Carrie-ness of that phrase. Exactly remembers the expression she gets when she’s frustrated, annoyed. 

And he hears the distant hope in her voice, that somehow they hadn’t just fucked things up royally. And the attempt to deflect, justify things that can’t be justified. 

“I don’t know. This one feels different somehow,” he says, tests the waters. 

“Why?” she asks sharply.   “The time frame, the way we went in,” Quinn replies calmly. “The fact we didn’t have eyes on before we ordered the strike.”

And he knows she knows all this, that she must have had the same doubts before sending the bombing run. Above all Carrie is good at the job, the procuring of information. So she knows what it must mean that this particular one failed - that something was wrong with the intel, most likely deliberate. But she’s already defensive and not ready to admit her mistake - he can hear the edge in her voice and he knows what it means.

“Way to stay positive,” she retorts, exactly as she would.

Quinn looks out the window, at the protesters outside the gate. And in his heart he knows it’s true, that they hit a wedding, that he was again complicit in the killing of civilians, women and children. Really he agrees with the people outside, thinks of course they should be at the door, demanding justice.

He thinks about Carrie, in the bunker. Wonders how far down the rabbit hole she’s gone. Hopes she can still see some light but is starting to doubt it. And he’s surprised how much it hurts, to hear her sound so aloof about the whole thing. 

“You still there?” she asks. And he thinks yeah. I’m here. But where the fuck are you, Carrie? 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Quinn finally says. Because unfortunately he is. There, in Islamabad. And there, for her. 

“Listen to me Quinn,” Carrie says. “Worst case scenario it was a wedding. Obviously not ideal. But Dande Darpa Khel is about as deep in the tribal area as you can get.” 

Not ideal? he thinks. That’s one way of putting it. And who the fuck cares where it happened. Dead wedding parties are dead wedding parties. 

“I’m not following you,” he says because he really isn’t. 

“Who’s going to risk going in to verify anything?” Carrie continues, sounds confident even. “Nobody that’s who. We’re bulletproof on this.”

And Quinn thinks what the fuck, Carrie. Who are you? Because he definitely feels something now, a burn in the pit of his stomach, a solid mass in his throat. 

“Bulletproof?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Completely,” she replies, clearly missing his tone, what he’s been trying to say. 

Quinn closes his eyes, fights back the sudden pulse in his temple. He knows this shouldn’t bother him so much and then wonders why he expected any different. What were the chances that Carrie would stop being a fucking mission-driven machine, would somehow hold onto any humanity while ordering bombing runs from a bunker? It was why he didn’t go to Kabul, said no to her for once. Because he couldn’t pretend to be alright with it all, watching her walk a line he knows all too well. And so he had managed to stay blind to it until now, stuck his head in the sand because he’d been too scared to look. 

And Quinn’s not usually one to be afraid of anything. But he’s good and scared now - knows he’s finally being forced to open his eyes, knows he’s not going to like what he sees. 

*

“Bulletproof?” Quinn asks.

Carrie wonders why he sounds so surprised, thinks she’s made a good point at least. Even if they did fuck up they could probably contain the damage, limit the problems created. The protests will die down soon enough, especially if no one can find any proof and eventually people will forget and the program can continue. 

“Completely,” she says. 

And part of her knows that she’s just trying to convince herself, that nothing is bulletproof in their world, especially not this shit. Carrie keeps going through what it means if Sandy’s intel was bad just for this one rush job, one that couldn’t wait for proper vetting. Because it definitely means something, is not just a coincidence. And she bets Quinn sees it too - he’s been in the game too long not to suspect. 

Quinn doesn’t reply again and Carrie briefly wonders where his head is at. It seems like it’s been a long time since she last knew him, and yet she still knows his exact inflections, the pauses in between. 

But all Carrie can do is pretend not to hear the doubt in his voice, mostly because she isn’t ready to give up yet, thinks she can still come out on top of this one, figure out what the hell happened. 

“Quinn?” she asks when he doesn’t reply. 

There’s another long pause but she can hear him breathing, knows he’s still there. And despite her efforts to maintain her inner poise, she starts to feel the creep of emotion set in. Because he’s on the line and she’s thankful yet anxious, unsure she’s ready to face him, see herself reflected in the ice of his eyes. 

“I’ve got to go, Carrie,” he finally says quietly. 

And there’s too much to read into his tone, the defeat she hears from him. It makes her twinge internally, because she senses he’s struggling and she doesn’t have the capacity to care, to deal with it. Because she had long ago succumbed to the numbness, let it take over, let it absolve her of responsibility. And now Carrie doesn’t know what to do with the emotions that are starting to poke through, thinks it’s best if she shoves them back, deal with it all later.

“Wait,” she says. “Not yet.” 

She hears him sigh and when he doesn’t hang up Carrie has a minor panic, realizes she’s got to figure out something to say if she’s making him stay on the line. But she didn’t really have anything to tell him, just didn’t want to let go of him yet, no matter if he sounds defeated, depressed. He’s still the only person who’s called that she actually wants to talk to. 

Quinn’s more patient than she would have imagined, stays on through a long silence while Carrie scrambles for words. And of course she can’t just say what she feels - that she’s glad he called, that she’s fucking missed him. 

“Carrie? You alright?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything more. 

And she’s again surprised he asked, that he hasn’t already hung up. Then thinks no, Quinn. You know I’m not fucking alright, know it probably better than anyone, including myself. But it isn’t the time for introspection, that can all wait until the mission is over. 

“Yeah,” she finally replies. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for calling, Quinn.”

She hears him absorb her answer, then he silently hangs up the line. 

And Carrie thinks shit, this is only the beginning. And she’s not at all sure she’s ready for everything that’s to come.

*


	2. 4.1.2

4.1.2

The phone rings, knocks Carrie out of a fitful sleep, pulls her from the dead that infect her nights.

And of course it’s fucking Lockhart with pretty much the worse news possible, that a video of Dande Darpa Khel has gone viral.

“What does it show?” she asks, the barest hope lingering of a blurry video, something that can be denied. 

“A wedding, little girls dancing,” Lockhart says coldly. “The bride and her mother. And then the missiles hit. It’s devastating.” 

“Authentic?” Carrie asks, still grasping at the last trace of hope.

“Sure as hell looks that way,” Lockhart replies. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carrie mutters, rubs her eyes as she feels a headache start up. “Have you talked to Sandy?” 

“He was my first call,” Lockhart says, “You two are going to have to put your heads together, find me a way to spin this.” 

And Carrie thinks fuck. How the hell do you spin something like video evidence of them blowing up a wedding? 

So she suggests telling the truth and Lockhart shoots her down immediately, says something about the President being pissed and the Pakistani armed forces needing a full accounting by the next day. And obviously there’s nothing to be said at that point except ‘yes sir, whatever you need sir’. Which she does say, not quite managing to keep the insolence out of her voice. 

Lockhart tells her he needs her on the first flight to Islamabad, then hangs up. And again Carrie thinks fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Worst case scenario really - which was pretty much par for the course in her life lately. She should have fucking seen it coming when Sandy’s intel was so perfect to start. Nothing ever works out like that for her, clean and easy. 

Carrie rubs her face again, tries to gather her thoughts but too many are flying about in her head. A fucking video, all the dead, their culpability, Sandy’s secret source. It’s too much to consider so she makes herself get up, at least get caught up on what the fuck is going on. 

So she watches the video and it’s as bad as Lockhart said. There’s no denying it, the brutality of the missiles, the obviousness of the attack. 

And Carrie knows there’s no way to fucking spin it, that it’s all fucking bad. But she books herself a flight to Islamabad anyways because it’s what needs to be done. And then she sits for a moment, still in her pjs, feels it all wash over her. 

She’s surprised she’s not crushed by the power of it but it does take her breath away, gives her the feeling of being underwater. And for a moment she thinks she might just drown in it, that this could be her tipping point. 

But Carrie is nothing if not resilient, tells herself she’s not going to let this take her down. So she takes a deep breath, tries to shake it off. Reminds herself that she has to pack, that there are things to do before she flies to Islamabad in a couple hours. 

But she doesn’t stand up, doesn’t pack. Instead Carrie finds herself with the phone in her hand, halfway through dialing before she realizes what she’s doing.

Carrie pauses, asks herself what the fuck. And then she thinks of course she’s calling Quinn at seven in the morning - he’s her go-to first call when shit goes down. And then she reminds herself he’s not her go-to call for anything anymore, that she hasn’t called him for anything in nearly a year.

Carrie nearly hangs up at that point, tells herself to fucking suck it up, stop trying to lean on him when he’s clearly done with her. And then she thinks fuck it. If things are so fucked that she can’t call Quinn when everything’s gone to shit and she’s flying to Islamabad in two hours then she should know before she gets there, give him fair warning too. 

So Carrie finishes dialing the number, then tells herself to take a few deep breaths as she waits to find out where she stands. 

*

Quinn’s phone rings early in the morning and he falls out of a dream, his heart rate already on the rise. 

“Quinn,” he answers, still trying to shake off the last visual vestiges of blood, of blonde. Thinks it’s got to be Sandy - no one else calls his personal number so early. And if Sandy’s up this early it’s not a good sign.

“Get up Quinn, everything’s gone to shit.”

It’s definitely not Sandy and for a moment he thinks he’s still dreaming, blinks slowly and looks at his phone to double-check it’s real. 

“Quinn?” Carrie asks impatiently when he doesn’t respond. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he finally says. “What’s going on?” 

He hears her breathe an irritated sigh and he can picture her expression, thinks there’s never a need for videophone with Carrie. 

“A video’s gone up,” she replies. “Of the wedding getting hit. It’s fucking brutal.” 

It takes the breath out of him even though he had already resigned himself to the likelihood that the accusations were true. Quinn closes his eyes as he feels the pressure build in his head, briefly pictures the scene - women, children torn apart by missiles, bodies mutilated, charred. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. Worst case scenario of course. And of course they’re both right in the middle of it. 

“Yeah,” she replies in a tone he can’t quite read. 

Quinn wonders if she’s still just trying to think of ways to get out of it, absolve herself of responsibility for it all. If it’s all just damage control to her, if the lives mean nothing at all. 

“Lockhart wants me in Islamabad ASAP,” Carrie continues when he doesn’t respond. “I’ll be there at 12:30.”

And suddenly his heart is in his throat, his chest frozen in time. Knows that it’s really all started now, that he can’t run from it anymore. So there’s nothing to do but face it head on, do his best to become steel.

Of course, if he were to be completely honest with himself Quinn would know that he’s been waiting for this all along, that the shiver in his gut is equal parts trepidation and anticipation. That he’s glad she called, that she still thinks of him first.

“I’ll come pick you up,” he says, takes a deep breath in.

Carrie doesn’t respond right away and he wonders what she’s thinking, if she’s a bit fucking nervous about it too, if she has any fucking feelings at all anymore. 

“Thanks, Quinn,” she replies, sounds tired already. “See you soon, I guess.” 

He hangs up, thinks yeah, see you soon Carrie. His own class five hurricane, on her way there. 

*

“I’ll come pick you up,” Quinn says.

Carrie lets out a breath, realizes it’s why she called - what she’d been hoping for. Not that she’d have admitted it to herself had he not offered. But it’s telling that Quinn was the first call she made, his number half dialed before she asked herself why she’s calling. 

And it feels good, just for a moment. That he heard her unspoken question, that she at least means that much to him. But Carrie wonders if she still has an ally in Quinn, wonders where it all went wrong between them. Then remembers she’s not supposed to think about it, that she packed that problem away, back behind the other ones. 

It’s then that Carrie really realizes that she’s about to find out exactly where she stands, that she’s going to see him before the day is done. And though she’s already tired and stressed, the thought of having him there with her relieves some of the tension.

“Thanks, Quinn,” she says, really means it. “See you soon, I guess.”

He doesn’t reply and then Carrie sees he’s hung up. And she realizes she’s nervous what she’s going to find, that Quinn doesn’t exactly sound enthused about seeing her, that he seems unsettled in general. 

It bothered her more than she would ever admit that he had refused to go to Kabul with her. She had been relying on him, didn’t think he would ever say no to her. Because he hadn’t up to that point - she was always able to push him just a little further. 

And so it had fucking hurt when he finally cut the cord. Then to know he chose Islamabad, that he was that fucking close and didn’t bother to let her know, never called. It makes her wonder where his head is at, especially since he was on the edge before. Because Carrie knows it’s why he ditched, that he was close to his breaking point. But she still can’t see it as anything except abandonment, at a time when she’d already lost so much. 

She tells herself it doesn’t do her any good to think about this shit, reminds herself she put it away for a reason. But Carrie senses it’s all coming to a head now, has seen this pattern before. The shit in her life can only float so far away before it all comes back full force. 

Running from the memories, from the trauma, from her mistakes. Alienating her family, Saul, Quinn. She’d been vaguely hoping her state of denial could just last forever, that the numbness could just stay around, keep shielding her from life. 

But there’s something stirring in her gut, tells her that she’s standing on the tip of the iceberg, that shit’s about to go down. And she also knows there’s no avoiding it, that this is just part of her fate, to be in the centre of it all.

At least he’ll be there with her, Carrie thinks. She knows they will clash, that there’ll be fights to be had. It’s par for the course for them really. But she also knows he can be relied upon, that he’ll have her back.

But there’s no denying the flutter in her chest, the flicker of adrenaline.

She’s going to be in Islamabad in a few hours. And Quinn’s coming to pick her up.

*

Quinn’s already watched the video more times than he can count by the time Sandy shows up at the meeting looking tired and drawn. He’s called everyone in, full team meeting to disseminate the info, fill them in on the latest. 

“As you probably have all heard, a video of Dande Darpa Khel has gone viral,” Sandy says. Quinn notices he doesn’t bother indicating the viciousness of the video, acknowledge any responsibility. 

“The Director is up in arms. We need to figure out how this happened,” he continues. And Quinn wonders who Sandy means, since no one else in the office knows where the intel comes from, any figuring out is all going to be on him. 

“Mathison’s on her way from Kabul,” Sandy adds. “John, I’ll need you to pick her up when she gets here.” 

Redmond nods and Quinn furrows his brow, remembers he’s not the obvious choice to go get her, that Sandy doesn’t know any of the shit between him and Carrie, that Quinn’s deliberately kept him in the dark.

Fuck, he thinks. Obviously Carrie hasn’t talked to Sandy yet and now Quinn’s stuck having made plans with someone he’s been pretending to not know. Which isn’t so much a big deal but he hasn’t let anything personal come out in Islamabad yet, thinks this is not something he needs everyone to know. Considers talking to Sandy in private after, get him to change the pick up. Then thinks that’s even more shady, likely to incur suspicion. So he decides to just fess up and let everyone speculate. 

“Actually, I talked to her this morning and I said I’d pick her up,” Quinn interrupts. 

And of course all eyes are on him so Quinn puts on his best blank look, pretends not to notice Sandy giving him a long considered look.

But no one makes any comments - the luxury of being the quiet dangerous one. Though he notes that some of the guys give him an extra look throughout the rest of the meeting. And Sandy pulls him aside afterwards, gives him the same pensive look. 

“Is there something going on between you and Mathison that I should know about?” he asks. 

And Quinn thinks he’d also like to know the answer to that question. But he’s unsure whether there’s anything going on between them at all, whether he’d burned that bridge when he said no to Kabul, whether Carrie thinks of him as anything other than a guy she used to work with. 

“No,” Quinn replies stoically, shaking his head. “We just used to work together.” 

“But she did call you, not me this morning,” Sandy says, raising his eyebrows a bit. 

Quinn shrugs, tries to play it off casually. 

“Yeah, well. She’s a friend,” he explains, still hoping to deflect any further inquiry.

“From what I’ve heard she doesn’t have any,” Sandy replies. 

And of course it lights a fire in him, makes him grit his teeth. Not because he hasn’t heard it all before. But because it still pisses him off, when people judge her before they know her. 

You have no idea the loyalty she can incite, Quinn thinks. You don’t know how she’s suffered, what she’s been through. 

So he gives Sandy his steeliest look, the one usually reserved for threatening scumbags. 

“Well, she’s got at least one,” Quinn mutters, low and precise. 

And Sandy gives him a double-take, reminds Quinn that he’s never shown his real skill set to his new boss yet, that Sandy Bachman has no idea who Peter Quinn really is. 

Although to be fair, Quinn himself isn’t sure who Peter Quinn really is. But he has a sense it’s soon going to become real clear to him. Because whatever it is about Carrie, it makes him examine himself, question his existence. 

“Okay good,” Sandy finally says, clearly giving up on getting anything else out of Quinn. “I could use the help handling her.”

Sandy ends it at that and walks off, leaves Quinn standing there on his own, wryly amused at idea of anyone ‘handling’ Carrie. 

Good fucking luck, he thinks. Because she’s going to be more than you could ever expect.

*


	3. 4.1.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so it got a little long - originally the rest of episode 1 was going to be all in one chapter, now it's gonna be two. so don't fret, all the scenes are going to get covered in the end...

4.1.3

Quinn gets to the airport early, stands outside the door trying not to think about seeing her again after all this time. He’s tense, jittery - and it’s not due to the current political situation. Tries to dampen a rebellious spark of excitement, does not want to even admit it to himself. Instead he does his best to prepare himself for what he might see, reminds himself it’s probably not going to be pretty. 

Finally Carrie walks out the door and Quinn takes a deep breath in, is all of a sudden unsure how to greet her. Just seeing her floods his mind with images, memories, emotions. All the shit he’s been trying to put away hits him with explosive intensity, a fucking emotional IED. And it doesn’t help that she doesn’t look particularly pleased to see him, appears a bit distracted as she approaches and says ‘hey’. 

So Quinn tries to put his feelings away, says ‘hey’ back. Then lets instinct take over as he pulls her into a brief hug, thinks he needs this at least. 

Carrie feels stiff in his arms, taut and thin. She’s obviously uncomfortable but he holds her for a moment, tries to tell himself he hasn’t missed her. That he hasn’t been looking forward to this instant, the chance to see her for himself, to feel her existence bounce up against him. 

But the truth is Quinn feels relief the moment he puts his arms around her, feels her energy against his chest. He’s been resisting her magnetic pull for too long, knew it couldn’t last. It makes his heart tighten to breathe her in, to remember the intensity of just being in her presence.

Yet he remembers all too well what Carrie is like, skittish and reticent - like a trapped animal, Quinn thinks as he lets her escape his embrace quickly. But then she looks at him a bit flustered, asks him to sit, give her the lay of the land and he wonders if maybe she’s nervous too.

But if she is, she doesn’t show it. They sit and she asks the questions that need to be asked, wants to know what he thinks happened with Sandy’s intel.   Quinn tells her the truth, that no one knows what Sandy’s up to, that he leaves the embassy at odd hours, never informing anyone of where he’s going. And he’s not entirely surprised that even Carrie doesn’t know who Sandy’s secret asset is, thinks there’s a lot that his station chief’s been hiding. 

So he tells her she’ll have to ask Sandy herself and Carrie says she will, that she’s the one dropping fire on the targets, the one ultimately responsible for the bombings. 

And Quinn sees an opportunity to peer a little deeper, see what he’s up against. 

“Yeah, well I know what that’s like,” he mutters. 

Of course Carrie looks at him blankly, doesn’t seem to connect with what he’s said. And he remembers again that Carrie only ever thinks about Carrie, is oblivious to other people’s problems. 

“Why?” she asks. 

“Checking names off a kill list for a living,” he replies, gives it to her direct. 

Because after all this time he still can’t believe she went in for it, left her kid to live in a bunker and fire off drones. As much as he knows she told them all along that she couldn’t do it, that having the baby was a mistake. Quinn just always thought she would snap out of it, come to see reality, accept her responsibility. But he had forgotten he was dealing with Carrie, that her reactions to life are unpredictable at best. 

So she had chosen death instead of life and he had watched her do it, felt his heart flake away as she made all the wrong decisions. And now he sees it all again, relives it all - Carrie, frozen in fear and sadness, switching off, making choices based on avoidance, basic survival. 

And despite the time and distance, it still hurts just the same. No matter how he tries to steel himself against it, convince himself he doesn’t care. 

“It’’s a job,” she responds. 

Quinn wonders if she can hear how pathetic that sounds, how cold. And he thinks she can’t really believe it, then thinks that anything is possible when it comes to Carrie.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he presses on. “What about when it goes wrong?”

And she makes another lame excuse, says that it doesn’t happen that often. Which just makes him more angry and sad, determined to push through. 

“But it did this time,” he says, forcing the issue again. 

Carrie looks uncomfortable but gives him the same bullshit line he heard from Sandy about Haqqani’s family knowing the risks of being around him. And he thinks about the women and children in the video, the bride and groom. Knows they shouldn’t have to expect being blown apart by American missiles, that guilt by association should only go so far. 

Quinn looks at her, at this person that she’s become. And he sees a reflection of himself, of his past. Determined to do the job, with no time to ask the hard questions. He always wondered what would have happened if someone close had called him out, made him face facts. If he could have gotten out, escaped its grasp. But there hadn’t been anyone there for him - it was the nature of his life. So he had fought it alone, one step forward, two steps back. 

But then he’d been thrown into the whole Brody fiasco. And despite his secret mission, despite being the outsider, he had quickly realized he wasn’t on his own anymore, that she had somehow snuck into his life. 

 Then of course it had all gone to shit, the next year a fucking disaster of its own. Killing the kid then coming home to find Carrie in a mental ward, put there by their employer. And then to find out it was all a ruse, that she had put herself through all that abuse just to keep the game going. Watching her go through it all, seeing her fall to pieces after Iran - it was almost worse than staying in it himself. But then to lose her to the beast, watch her leave her child to be a part of the fucking killing machine. It had been too much. 

So now he’s faced with the stark reality that nothing’s changed, that Carrie’s still stuck in the same frozen state. And Quinn sees exactly the road she’s on, knows it will drag her to self-destruction, also knows it will take a miracle to make her change course. 

And of course he’s already emotionally exhausted just seeing her, just thinking about all this. But, regardless, Quinn knows he has to try, that no one else can do this for her.

“I guess Istanbul was too tame,” he says, pokes the beast. 

Carrie actually has the audacity to say something about it being more money and he wonders where the hell she comes up with this bullshit. So he calls her on that too, is not going to just let her off the hook. And then she tries a half-truth, says it’s more action. But then he says out loud what they both know is the truth. 

“But you can’t bring dependents.” 

Quinn watches her squirm, look away. He knows she won’t talk about it but pushes anyways, needs to try and find her under all the defensive layers.

But of course she just changes the subject, asks why he didn’t come to Kabul and that’s his cue to cut things short, get up and go. 

Because he’s already seen enough to know that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have with her, that it would be pointless given the state of denial she’s in. 

And then he has the thought that he’s not ready for this, to be face to face with his own overwhelming concern. Because seeing her like this is horrifying, painful. And part of him wants to just disown her, let go of whatever’s still there. 

But the realistic part of him acknowledges that he just can’t let go, that he fucking wants to save her, to make her see. That there’s something in him that is, despite everything, irrationally pleased to see her, wants her in his life. Even though he knows all the shit that’s coming, the shit that follows Carrie around. 

And that’s what he’s thinking when she looks at him in alarm, says his name. And Quinn thinks this is it, this is how it all begins.

******

“But you can’t bring dependents,” Quinn says, his accusation clear.

 Carrie looks away, fake smile still lingering on her face. Count on Quinn to call her on everything, right away. She hasn’t been off the plane for half an hour and he’s drilling her on ethics - direct and unforgiving. He uses his best blank monotone, pushes her on every question. And she feels defensive right away, thinks she should have expected this. But stupidly she’d been somewhat excited to see him, hopeful that he’d be an ally, probably her only one here. 

For just a moment it had felt good to see him there waiting for her - like old times, before he stepped out of her life. Carrie had even admitted to herself that she’d missed him, that she was looking forward to having him around again. 

But then he’d put his arms around her and immediately she’d felt nervous, remembered that this was Quinn, that there’s no hiding from him. That he knows her shit, everything she’s been avoiding. It had been fairly easy right up until then, eking out an existence in Kabul, licking her wounds after he refused to come. Pretending to herself that she needed to be there, that she was doing some good.

But now here’s Quinn, of all people, calling her a bad person, a bad mother. This from a guy who assassinated people for a living, a guy with no family, no attachments. What does he care what she’s doing anyhow, she wonders. Then thinks to herself that was always the problem with Quinn - that he cared about her more than she was ever comfortable with. Until he didn’t, until she pushed him too far. Like she does to everyone in the end. 

And now he’s in her face, pushing right up against all of her sensitivities. Which is way too much at the moment, especially with everything else going on. So Carrie changes the topic, asks what she really wants to know even though she’s fairly certain she won’t get an answer. Because at least it will turn the tables for a moment, put him on the defensive a bit.

“I wanted to bring you,” she says. “Why didn’t you come?” 

Of course Quinn just smiles in that expressionless way he does, stands up and says they should get to the embassy. And Carrie thinks she’s sidestepped that particular bullet for now but will have to find a way to get Quinn off her back. Because he’s asking her things that she doesn’t want to think about, challenging her in that unrelenting way of his. And she knows she couldn’t survive if he were to crack her walls so all she can do is fortify them, deflect his incursions.

Her mind already full with intrusive thoughts, Carrie stands up and looks across the room, sees Sandy’s picture on a television screen. For a moment her brain can’t even process what’s happening fast enough, can’t believe what she’s seeing. 

“Quinn,” she says sharply, the tone of her voice making him turn abruptly.

And now she’s immediately glad to have Quinn there with her, thinks he is exactly the person she would want around in this situation. They stare at the tv screen with matching expressions of dismay, hear the announcer specifically say something about American Sandy Bachman, CIA station chief. 

“Fucking hell,” Quinn mutters. “C’mon.” 

They run for the vehicle, Quinn already on his phone trying Sandy, then calling embassy security when he predictably can’t reach the station chief. Then they’re in the car, halfway back into the city when Quinn finally reaches Sandy, tells him he’s blown, that they need to know exactly where he is. 

And all Carrie can do is guess about what the hell is going on, about who would have the means and motive to leak Sandy’s picture, particularly with all the protests going on. Someone who wants him gone, possibly dead. Someone high up, with the authority and access to release this type of information. ISI clearly. 

Then she also wonders if it’s a coincidence that this happened less than a half an hour after she landed, if this is Pakistan’s little welcoming gift to her. And of course Carrie knows she courts it, that this is what she asks for. 

Thankfully Quinn is dealing with locating Sandy, contacting the embassy. But everything is happening so quickly, each moment a new fire blazing, that she feels unsettled, overwhelmed. Too little info and too many things happening at once. Yet Carrie senses it’s all connected, that none of it is a coincidence. 

Then they’re finally there, see a mob starting to converge on Sandy who’s standing in the middle of the street, his weapon drawn. The energy in the air is tense, angry. And Quinn flies into the middle of the it, slamming on the horn but not slowing for anything until they pull up next to Sandy, an armed crowd forming around them. 

Carrie jumps into the back and Sandy gets in as they squeal away, create a little distance from the mob. 

But they don’t even manage a block, are cut off by a truck in the intersection and it’s not until then that Carrie fully realizes the severity of the situation. Instantly they’re fully surrounded in volatile anger, the crowd everywhere, wooden batons bashing at the windows. And all she can think is they need to get out of there fast, before something really fucking bad happens. 

“Quinn, go!” she yells at him, knows if anyone can get them out of there, he can. 

But the crowd has lifted the back end by then, and even Quinn can’t get the vehicle moving. He tells her there’s another weapon in the back and she looks but can’t find anything. And he keeps insisting it should be there but she’s already fucking looked and there’s obviously no gun there 

Just then someone shatters Sandy’s window, and the crowd is instantly in the fucking car with them, bodies, arms everywhere. Now it’s as real as it gets, the heat of the crowd inside the vehicle, the physical force of mob violence up next to their skin. Carrie really feels her adrenaline kick in, knows she’s in fight or flight mode. And with Carrie, it’s always fight first. Regardless of the situation, the size of the crowd, their violent intentions. 

So she thinks it’s just a matter of trying, of pulling Sandy back in firmly, fucking shooting their way out of the situation if necessary. 

And then her window breaks into a million pieces, Quinn shoots a guy dead in the middle of the forehead, and Carrie thinks fuck, well, she did say she wanted to be where the action is.


	4. 4.1.4

4.1.4

“Quinn, go!” Carrie yells, leaning in between him and Sandy. 

And he thinks fuck, Carrie. What do you think I’m trying to do?  

But the crowd has got the rear wheels off the ground and Quinn knows the situation is getting out of hand. He feels his training set in and quickly goes through his options, considers how to best protect his passengers without any loss of life. 

They’re fully surrounded and he knows they’re not going to be able to keep the mob out for long. So first Quinn tells Carrie to look for another weapon in the back, half hoping there really is one but mostly to get her to stay down, keep away from the crowd. But of course she doesn’t get his hint, sits right back up to tell him there’s nothing there. 

“Under the seat!” he yells, hoping she’ll listen just this once. 

Just get under the fucking seat, Carrie, he thinks. Just stay safe and I can fucking deal with the rest of this shit, get us out of here. 

“It’s not here!” she yells right back and he wonders how someone so smart can be so incredibly obtuse sometimes. 

And he’s about to just tell her to fucking get down and stay down when they break through Sandy’s window, smash it to pieces. A guy plunges through immediately, head first, tries to pull Sandy out of the window. And now there’s arms, hands, bodies all grabbing, prying at Sandy, at the car door, threatening to get it open. 

Quinn punches at the invaders, but the space is cramped, awkward, and as soon as one guy lets go of Sandy another grabs on. Sweaty limbs are everywhere, flailing and grasping. And then the crowd gets the door open and Quinn knows the choice he’s been avoiding has to be made. So he pulls out his sidearm, thinks it’s not the right weapon for this situation but he doesn’t have a lot of options anymore. Shoots one of the attackers in the chest but new ones take his place, keep trying to pull Sandy from the vehicle.

Then the door is open and everyone’s grabbing at Sandy but Quinn’s still managing to keep one arm on him, just enough to hold him in. And he’s still going through his options, how to get them the hell out of there in one piece when the back window shatters too.

He looks back for an instant to make sure Carrie’s okay, sees a man with a wooden baton reaching for her. Quinn shoots the man in the forehead before he can grab her, automatically thinks through how many bullets he has, how many more he can keep off of her. 

By the time his attention is back on Sandy, Quinn realizes his grip on his boss has weakened, that there are too many arms pulling Sandy in the other direction. They yank him out of the car and all Quinn can do is shoot into the crowd, knowing exactly how futile his one weapon is against an entire mob. 

And he freezes for a second, can only watch as the crowd drags Sandy away. He hears Sandy yelling his name, sees the first blows land. Considers his very shitty set of choices. He could leap into the crowd, hoping to shoot enough of them to keep the others off both him and Sandy until the backup squad arrives from the embassy. And he knows he could probably pull it off, would already be on the street if he didn’t have Carrie to consider. But that would entail leaving her alone in the car without a weapon, surrounded by a murderous crowd. 

This is what he’s thinking about as Carrie tries to jump out of the car herself, as if she’s going to pry an entire mob off Sandy with her bare hands. And of course she doesn’t consider the fact that she has no weapon, no chance. That she’d be a skinny blonde American woman trying to fend off hundreds of armed, enraged men.

“Carrie, no!” he yells, puts his arm out to stop her.

“We can’t leave him!” she yells back. 

And Quinn thinks no, we can’t. But he also knows that he’d be risking Carrie to try and save Sandy. That Sandy was likely beyond hope the moment he was out of the car. But he can at least save her. 

So one of the hardest choices of his life turns out to be simple, yet immensely difficult. There was never any way he was going to leave her alone and unarmed in the middle of a violent anti-American crowd. Even if it meant leaving Sandy to die.

“He’s gone!” he fires back. “There’s nothing more we can do. Now get down!” 

And at least Carrie listens this time, ducks as he fires out the back window, clearing the way for them to get the fuck out of there. She doesn’t say anything more, lets him take charge but he feels her silent condemnation, knows she expected more out of him. 

Most of him still can’t process any of what just happened, the shock making everything seem like a vivid dream. He’s still sitting in it all - the visceral feeling of Sandy getting torn away, the claustrophobia of being violently surrounded, the helplessness of having to choose.

As they drive away Quinn feels like they’re in a sound proof bubble, shockwaves still reverberating through the vehicle, still feeling the hot breath, the sweaty, grasping hands everywhere. And as he looks at her in the mirror, all blood and blonde, he asks himself if he made the right choice. 

*

It happens in a split second. Quinn’s yelling at her, telling her to find the weapon under the seat but there isn’t one. And she wonders why he’s being so insistent on it, thinks he has better things to be doing than hollering at her to find something that doesn’t exist. 

Then her window shatters and Quinn kills the guy trying to get in, shoots him in the head. There’s a spray of blood, more attackers at her window. And then before she can register what’s happened, Sandy’s out of the car, dragged into the street. 

Her first instinct is to leap out of the car and help him, is halfway to the door when Quinn yells at her to stop. 

“Carrie, no!” he hollers, grabbing her to hold her back.

And she wonders what the fuck is wrong with him, why he isn’t already out there defending Sandy. Thinks he’s got the only weapon amongst them, that if anyone can save Sandy it’s Quinn.

“We can’t leave him!” she yells right back, trying to can snap him out of his inaction by reminding him of the obvious. That they are fucking CIA agents and they can’t leave one of their own to be beaten to death on the streets of Islamabad. 

But Quinn doesn’t jump to action, just tells her that Sandy’s gone, that there’s nothing more they can do. And then he shoots through the back window, finally gets the vehicle going and backs up out of the crowd.

And she thinks it’s bullshit, refuses to believe there was nothing they could do. Thinks it shouldn’t be possible for an agent, the fucking station chief, to be killed by random mob violence, that this is the shit they are trained to deal with. 

But she had let Quinn stop her, let him take control. And a part of her knows that jumping out there unarmed would have been tantamount to suicide. But the larger part of her is still in the battle, still wants to go back and fight for Sandy’s life, refuse to give him up so easily. Because what does it fucking mean if she just stood by and let him die? That she’s powerless, useless. And she can’t have that, has to believe she could have done something, could have saved him if she tried. 

So she blames it on Quinn, thinks he pussied out when he needed to man up, fucking shoot his way out of the problem if need be. She wonders what happened to the black ops guy who so casually shoved a knife through Brody’s hand. Remembers thinking he was unbreakable as steel, a stone cold operative. Now he just seems to question everything.

Carrie knows she’s still in shock, looks out the window and can’t believe any of that really happened. That she’s been in Islamabad for an hour and they almost all died, then left Sandy to be beaten to death. She hasn’t even made it to the fucking embassy yet - is lucky she’s going to make it there at all. 

Her body feels frozen but her mind is going full tilt. She thinks about all the shit that’s going to come from this, what the fuck Lockhart’s going to do when he finds out. Thinks about presenting this fucking disaster to the ambassador - a great first impression. And she wonders about their culpability, if they’re going to take the fall for not doing more. Because she knows how Lockhart operates - he passes blame on to his people. And she’s not going to be a scapegoat for Sandy’s dirty secret. 

And then she remembers Sandy’s probably fucking dead, feels the anger poking through the numbness of shock. She’s fucking angry at the situation, at Sandy for fucking up in the first place, at Quinn for not doing anything, at herself for letting him stop her. 

By the time they pull up into the embassy Carrie’s on fire, ready to go. Needs to get out of the car, put things in motion. Start dealing with shit right away because her head is shifting into overdrive, too many thoughts too fast.

It takes her a moment to realize Quinn didn’t get out of the vehicle, wonders what the hell is wrong with him. He’s just sitting there, staring straight ahead with dull eyes. And all Carrie can think is this is the last thing she needs right now, that Quinn cannot go to pieces on her. She needs him to fucking man up, get his shit together so they can figure out what to say, something better than admitting they just let Sandy die. 

She looks at him through the empty window, wonders when the fuck he got so emotional. Thinks to herself this is no time to let any feelings through, that they’ll only get in the way of the job. 

*

Quinn barely notices when Carrie jumps out of the car, has never been so relieved to just sit and breathe for a moment. 

But of course Carrie comes straight to his non-existent window, looks pissed off, ready to blow.

“Come on,” she says impatiently. 

“Just give me a minute,” he replies. Thinks there is no way he can get out of the vehicle right now, needs some time to digest, let the shock slide off. 

“We don’t have a minute, the ambassador needs to be briefed,” Carrie snaps.

“Yeah, well I need a minute,” he repeats, wonders what the hell is wrong with her, why she can’t see how fucked up he is right now. How she can think about briefings and reports when he still has images of the attack flashing through his mind, the feeling of Sandy getting pulled out of his grasp.

“Plus the director’s going to want an after action report ASAP, we need to get our story straight,” she continues, like she didn’t hear him at all.

And just listening to her talk, go on about shit that doesn’t fucking matter pushes his heart rate, raises the pressure in his head. Quinn feels himself start to breathe too fast, needs her to fucking leave him alone right now. 

“Carrie, give me a goddamned minute,” he manages, says it with some force this time.

“Okay,” she huffs, clearly exasperated. Paces around, impatience etched on her every movement.

Quinn takes a breath, finally manages to process all the bullshit she just spouted. Tells himself to stop, breathe, get his brain going again. And one thing sticks out, doesn’t make any sense. 

“What do you mean story?” he asks. The story is just what happened, he thinks. There isn’t anything to get straight.

Carrie pauses for a moment, like she doesn’t quite get the question. 

“You know what I mean,” she says. “We could have done more back there.”

This time he really thinks his head is going to explode. It’s like they weren’t even in the same situation. Or maybe Carrie has really lost it, can no longer see reality. 

Because the way he sees it they were lucky to get out of there alive, unharmed. He was one guy, with just his sidearm, trying to protect her against a crowd of hundreds. Right now he’s fucking thankful for his own life, thinks she should be a little more fucking grateful for hers.

“You kidding me?” he sputters. Really can’t believe what she’s saying, doesn’t know what she expected them to do. She was fucking unarmed and he had gotten them out. Best case scenario with what he was presented with. 

But of course Carrie isn’t fucking kidding. Looks at him like he’s the one with a mental problem. 

“No, I’m not,” she retorts. “It was within our power.”

Quinn makes himself take two breaths, cannot fathom what kind of power she thought they hadn’t exercised, what the fuck she expected him to have done. Let her jump out of the car unarmed, try to pull an entire mob of people off of Sandy? Good fucking idea Carrie, cause then we’d probably all be dead.

And he thinks this is the thanks I get for getting you out of there alive. Sometimes he thinks he could kill her himself - she can make him that mad. 

“You know what, fuck you,” Quinn says, throws as much emphasis into it as he can. “No, really Carrie, fuck you. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with you?!” she throws right back. And right then it’s obvious she really has no fucking clue what he’s talking about, that there is something seriously broken in her.

 “Five minutes, inside,” she snaps, walks off through the embassy doors. 

And Quinn just sits there, thinking she’s really fucking gone, the Carrie he thought he once knew. Replaced by a heartless shell, ready to place the blame anywhere but herself.

He really fucking hates her at this moment, thinks people like Carrie and Sandy are the fucking problem. But that just makes him fucking hate himself, for being part of it all, for never actually having the balls to get out. And for making a choice, for leaving Sandy, for saving someone he really fucking loathes right now. He hates himself for all of it. 

For a moment Quinn thinks he regrets his decision, should have gone after Sandy, no matter how hopeless the scenario. Then they’d all be fucking dead, he thinks. How’d you fucking like that, Carrie? 

And then he thinks if it’d been the other way around, if Carrie had been pulled out of the car he’d have been after her in an instant. Which is the fucking crux of the problem. Because he fucking hates her. But he still knows he made the only choice he could live with. 

Fuck you, Carrie, he thinks. Fuck you.

*

Carrie walks into the embassy, asks to see the ambassador. And the marine at the desk tells her she has blood all over the side of her face, something that’s news to her. For a moment she wonders whose blood it is, then has a quick flash of the man Quinn shot, the one trying to grab her through the broken window. 

She asks for directions to the bathroom, tries to appear unfazed as she stalks off to clean up. 

Inside the restroom Carrie stops for an instant to look at the splatter of red on her pale skin, then starts to scrub it off as quickly as she can. The faster she gets the blood off her her, the sooner she can get started in figuring out what happened, getting her mission back on track. 

And in a minute she’s wiped it all off, all physical remnants of what just happened. Looks at herself in the mirror and tells herself that she’s clean now, that by all appearances she’s ready to go. 

But Carrie still stops for a moment, examines her reflection. And in that instant she sees it all again, the window shattering, the arms, the dead man falling away, Sandy getting pulled out of the vehicle. It had happened so fucking fast, everything at once. And again she feels that need to have done something, to have jumped into action instead of just sitting in the back of the car, a fucking lame duck without a weapon. 

Emotionally she still feels like they should have done more, is angry with herself, with Quinn for running from the problem. And she really does wonder what the fuck is wrong with him, why he told her to fuck off so vehemently. Because she doesn’t get it, has no idea why he’s so pissed off. Well, other than the obvious - that they were attacked, that they left Sandy to die. But that doesn’t explain why he’s so angry at her. 

Carrie tries to toss it off, let it slide off just like the blood. But it’s not as easy to wipe clean, this thing she has with Quinn. Because unlike others, his opinion does matter to her, and the hate she just saw in him actually makes her stop and think. 

And once again she sees it all in her mind, the crowd, the anger, the unstoppable violence. Sandy getting pulled from the car, watching him get beaten. She pictures herself running out into it, at least fucking trying to do something. And for the briefest moment Carrie has the realization that she’s mostly mad at herself, for listening to Quinn, for not acting on her instincts. But then that leads to the thought that there wasn’t anything she could have done, that trying to save Sandy would likely have lead to both her and Quinn being beaten to death too. One weapon between the three of them against a violent crowd of hundreds, armed with wooden batons. 

But the idea of a no-win situation isn’t one she can consider so Carrie quickly puts that thought away, replaces it with her anger and determination. Tells herself it’s no time to go soft, that she’s going to need every ounce of personal mettle to get through what’s to come.  
 So she fixes her lipstick, does her best to straighten up her hair. Looks in the mirror for another few seconds, tries to cast away her doubts about herself, slough off the trauma of the day. 

In that way Carrie convinces herself that she’s ready, that she can and will figure out what’s going on. That she just has to hold it together, meet with the ambassador and get moving on a plan of action. 

And somewhere in there she knows she’ll have to figure this thing out with Quinn, because there’s something wrong with him, with whatever is between them. But she has bigger problems at the moment, thinks Quinn’s issues, his fucking feelings will just have to wait until this is all over. 

Because something big is going on and Carrie has the sense that she’s right in the middle of it - like always.


	5. 4.2.1

4.2.1

It’s the quietest plane ride she’s ever been on, the silence between them dense in the air. Quinn hasn’t spoken to her since the attack, has said little to any one, just enough to deal with business, make reports. 

And the truth is, Carrie still doesn’t know why he’s so angry at her, has never seen him this pissed off. She thinks about what happened, what she said and all she knows is she said what she thought - that they could have done more. So she really doesn’t know why he’s so upset, thinks it must just be displaced anger from his own role in everything. 

Carrie looks at him across the aisle, sitting about as far from her as possible on the small plane. She can barely see him but she knows how he looks - exhausted and tense, like he might ignite at any moment. It’s how he’s looked ever since the incident. 

She wonders if he’s slept since Sandy died, knows she hasn’t really. Carrie thinks how he’s been twitchy at every meeting, just not in a way that any one else would notice. But she sees the little flex of his fingers, turn of his neck. She doesn’t even have to actively look anymore, it’s ingrained in her to see. Yet she hasn’t had the time to really consider Quinn, just figured his problem would be temporary.

Carrie’s had a hard enough time keeping it all together herself, doesn’t have the capacity to deal with Quinn, even if he does look like shit, that empty dullness in his eyes. Between the meetings and reports and the summons back there hasn’t been a lot of down time, and certainly no time to think about anything other than the situation, how she can stay in the game, work it all out. 

So it’s only now that she wonders what Quinn’s been doing. Not sleeping by the looks of things. And probably thinking, feeling too much if she knows him at all. 

When she walked by him earlier to get to her seat he had given her the same dark glare he’s been giving her this whole time. One full of anger, resentment, hurt. His eyes bloodshot, his jaw set. 

Carrie had told herself she would talk to Quinn on the flight, try to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Because she will need him on her side if she’s got any hope at all in figuring this all out. But he hadn’t exactly looked ready to talk about anything, just stared her down. So she had held off, just walked back and planted herself in a corner seat. 

Now there’s not a lot of time left - she thinks it’s now or never. So Carrie takes a deep breath, steels herself to deal with it. She gets up, walks over. But of course he’s sleeping fitfully now, or doing a good job of faking it. 

Carrie sits down next to him anyhow, watches him twitch through a dream. And there’s something about seeing Quinn sleep, it makes him seem like a normal person. He looks vulnerable, unguarded - the opposite of how he appears in general, how he is. 

And she’s wondering what the fuck is wrong with him, thinking about how to get across to him when she hears him mumble her name. 

Carrie’s startled, thinks he’s woken up. She prepares to explain why she’s sitting with him, watching him when she realizes he’s not awake, is just talking in his sleep. 

“Carrie, just get the fuck down,” he mumbles. “And stay down.”

It’s weird to think that Quinn’s dreaming about her, though she’s not surprised he’s dreaming of being in the car - it’s also all she’s dreamt about in her brief moments of rest. In it she can never get to Sandy, is held back by something invisible - just like how it happened.

Now Quinn’s muttering loudly again, says “Fuck no, no, no. Get away from her!”

And Carrie thinks that’s strange too, that she’s the one in danger in Quinn’s dream. It’s never the case in her own, she has never woken up fearful for herself. Thinking about it now Carrie realizes it’s because she knew he would get her out of there, that Quinn would pull it off no matter what. It’s why she was so pissed he didn’t go after Sandy, was foolishly counting on him to solve every problem. 

“NO!” Quinn yells, jolts Carrie from her thoughts. And without thinking about it she puts her hand on his chest, shakes him gently. 

He wakes with a start, eyes instantly open, body on guard. 

“Fuck me. You’re alive,” he exclaims, reaches out to touch her face like he can’t believe she’s real. “Thank god.” 

And there’s immense relief in his expression, his body language. It’s what makes Carrie realize he’s not quite awake yet - and then she sees him snap out of it a second later. She watches as Quinn registers what just happened - his eyes darken, his expression turns cold. But she isn’t going to just let him brush it off with embarrassed silence, thinks she saw something in that moment on the edge of sleep. 

“You okay?” she asks. 

And of course he doesn’t answer for awhile, minutes of silence. But when she doesn’t get up to leave, he gives her a sullen look, finally responds. 

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he mutters. 

Of course there’s not a lot to say to that, all she can do is hope it passes, that he gets over it. But she wants to talk to him, at least figure out why he’s so upset with her. 

“What happened in the car, Quinn?” she asks. 

He just gives her that stone cold glare, shakes his head.

“What do you think happened?” he replies angrily, turning his head away. 

And there’s no answer to that really. She knows Quinn thinks he did all he could. But she still can’t bring herself to accept it, that there was nothing to be done. 

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “It happened so fast. And everything was so fucked up.” 

“Yeah, well,” he replies in a low growl. “I guess I should have done more.” 

Quinn gives her one last glare, pointed and dark. Then turns towards the window, ends the conversation. 

Carrie hears the bitterness in his voice, feels the acidity between them. But she still doesn’t move, just sits and thinks. Looks at Quinn, wonders about his dream. 

He seems so taut he could snap at any moment and she knows she’s not helping. But she doesn’t expect this shit from Quinn, thinks he’s always been able to pull through his little moral crises, his moments of doubt. Because he is reliable, always comes through in the end. 

And just then she realizes that’s the problem - that she expected him to be super human, able to pull anything off. But Quinn is just a man, trying to do the right thing, making hard choices. 

Rationally she gets that he would have saved Sandy if he could have, that telling him he should have done more was harsh. And she knows that Quinn already felt shitty enough, guilty as fuck. That he didn’t need her to accuse him of chickening out, running from the fight. 

But she hadn’t seen that at the time, had been running on total adrenaline, frustration, anger. And now it’s too late, the damage done. 

Quinn is silent the rest of the flight but she sits next to him anyways, thinks what she can possibly say. Really she knows nothing will help, he’s that pissed off. But it bears saying, before they get off the plane. 

So she catches his eye when they finally touch down. And he’s still wearing the same stony glare but she doesn’t let it put her off, make her upset. 

“Look Quinn, I’m sorry,” she says. 

His expression doesn’t change and she sees that he’s not ready to hear it, that he’s still incendiary, a trapped animal.

“Yeah. Well I’m sorry too. Sorry we’re flying Sandy back to his wife in a fucking box. Sorry that I didn’t fucking do enough,” he explodes at her. 

Carrie cringes at the sting of his words, knows it’s fair, that this is how it is between them. Full on. No holds barred.

“You did what you could with a shit situation,” she finally says. "You got us out alive.” 

And she really does see that now, that Quinn did what he could, made a very difficult choice. But if he hears the apology in her words he doesn’t acknowledge it, just stares out the window, doesn’t reply.

He stalks off the plane as soon as it stops, then stands there staring at the coffin as it’s lowered to the ground. Carrie stops too, stands next to him, thinks for the first time that it could be all three of them coming home in boxes. That she was lucky to get away with her own life, that she’s thankful for Quinn’s survival. 

They meet Sandy’s wife, shake hands and say their condolences. Carrie wonders how much she knows about what happened, what she’s heard. Watches emotionlessly as she loses control, cries and walks off after Sandy’s coffin.

Lockhart tells them about her situation, three kids, one still in elementary school. Then something about videos all over YouTube of Sandy getting stomped to death. And Carrie registers what he’s saying but can’t experience any feelings about it, is just numb. But Quinn looks like he’s about to lose it, has a tightness in his expression she’s never seen before. 

“Unless anyone needs me I’m going to go get a drink,” he says suddenly, the most he’s said in ages it seems. Well except when he’s flipping out at her.

And Lockhart says it’s fine so they watch Quinn walk off, clearly anxious to get away.

“Everything okay there?” he asks, looking at Carrie. 

She thinks she’d like to know the same thing, is hoping that Quinn will be alright once he has some time and space to decompress. Because he definitely isn’t okay at the moment - but not that Lockhart needs to know that. 

“Give him some time,” she says. “He was right in the middle of it.” 

And I wasn’t very nice to him afterwards, she thinks. Even though he did technically save her life. 

Carrie notices her instant impulse to defend him, regardless of her own opinions of his reaction. Thinks she’s allowed to judge Quinn, but won’t let any one else call him out. No one else was there, no one else could possibly know what he went through, how bad it was inside the vehicle. 

“Yeah, well so were you,” Lockhart states. “Tomorrow, my office. Nine o’clock.” 

With that he walks off, leaves Carrie standing alone in the hanger, thinking about being right in the middle of it. The fucked up part is she only gets a stone coldness in her when she thinks about the attack, can’t process any further than that. Or maybe she really can’t feel anymore, has lost that ability forever. 

Because she hasn’t had it since Iran, the capacity to feel anything except fear, anxiety, anger. And up until now Carrie’s deliberately avoided thinking about what’s next, about showing up at Maggie’s, seeing Frannie again. 

Just thinking about it is overwhelming, pushes her towards a system shutdown. She wants to just pretend she’s not there, stay at a hotel, avoid real life for another night. Which would be unreasonable, the kind of shit she always does. 

And part of her thinks maybe she should check on Quinn, give her an excuse to avoid her family. But she knows he’d just give her that same glare, and she knows she deserves it. So that’s out, no need for any more personal culpability when she’s already got a full load. 

Of course, in the end Carrie drives to her sister’s, sits in the car for a moment before going in. Thinks she might be more scared now than she ever was in Islamabad, that her fear of her life is a lot stronger than her fear of death.

******

Quinn gets off the plane, watches as they lower the coffin to the ground. Part of him still resists believing everything that’s happened in the past two days, that he watched Sandy get pulled out of his grip, that his boss is dead, in that box. 

And then all the meetings and briefings and other bullshit. Things he appeared for physically, though mentally he’s forever in the moment, stuck in the car, making the choice.

Quinn feels Carrie come up and stand next to him, thinks he’s not ready to talk to her, still feels the sting of her cruel accusations right in his chest. He knows she was trying to apologize on the plane but it’s not enough, too late. He’s never been this angry at her before - and that’s saying a lot considering their tendency to piss each other off. 

And then there’s the dream - the embarrassment of her catching him mid-nightmare. Quinn wonders what she heard before she woke him up, then cringes internally as he remembers reaching for her so needily. He had been so thankful for just half a moment as he emerged from the dream, the terror of her getting torn away still fresh in his mind. But then had he realized what happened, that he was still on the plane, that he was still fucking pissed off at her. And then instantly fell back into the untenable mix of emotions he’s been carrying with him since the attack - anger, powerlessness, relief, hurt, guilt. 

So he doesn’t say anything to Carrie, tries his best to push away the latent images from his dream. But it’s hard not to imagine that it’s her in the coffin, beaten and bloody. Because he’s dreamt of that too, has seen her dead in every way. 

Then Lockhart comes up with Sandy’s wife, and Quinn still can’t find anything to say, just shakes her hand, tries not to look her in the eye. He wonders what she knows, if she thinks he’s culpable. 

Because he knows he is, that he could have saved him. He came to that conclusion because he is sure he would have saved her had the situation been reversed. Or at least died trying. So it had been within his power, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. 

And that’s the impossible part of it, that there was no good choice to be made. That he was bound to feel guilty either way, hate himself no matter his decision. And now his choice has made this woman in front of him a widow, left the woman beside him a monster. 

Sandy’s wife leaves, full of emotion Quinn can’t look at. And then of course Lockhart has to tell them about the three kids, about the videos of Sandy getting stomped to death all over the internet. 

For a moment Quinn thinks he could be dying, that his throat has abruptly constricted to the point where he can’t intake any air. And then he realizes he’s having an anxiety attack, feels the tightness in his chest that accelerates his heartbeat, compresses his lungs. And he knows he has to get out of there immediately, needs a fucking drink or ten, anything that might help him release, or at least knock him out.

“Unless anyone needs me I’m going to go get a drink,” he manages to say. 

And thankfully Lockhart says fine, includes something about a meeting but by then Quinn is gone, his chest still tied tight, his mind a fucking black hole. 

He drives straight to the nondescript apartment he rented back before Islamabad, only stopping to get a few bottles of whiskey - enough to make him incapable of thinking. And he doesn’t even bother to go in his place before he starts drinking, just sits down by the shitty little pool, sucks it straight from the bottle.

The first few shots finally loosen up his chest, make it so he can breathe. But it’s not nearly enough for the rest of it. Quinn still sees it all, the blur of people, limbs in every direction, grasping for flesh. Glass fucking everywhere, Sandy getting pulled away. 

It rolls through his head, the same fucking film strip, the same fucking thoughts. He’s there again, lives through it again every minute of the day.

Just him and his sidearm. Two passengers. A car with no windows, assailants everywhere, too many to shoot them all. And then Sandy’s gone, Carrie’s trying to jump out too. He can’t fucking let her go out there, it’s fucking suicide. And he can’t go himself, leave her unarmed.

So he let Sandy die. It’s what Carrie thinks, probably what everyone thinks. Because it’s true. But it’s not the entire story. 

And for her to fucking say it to him, to be pissed off at him, accuse him of not doing enough. Not that he needs her fucking gratitude but it’s like she doesn’t get it at all. That it could easily have been her coming home in a box. That he couldn’t fucking let that happen. And now he’s going to question himself forever, hate himself for having chosen. 

Quinn’s relived his choice over a million times in less than two days. Just wants to fucking turn his brain off, stop thinking. So he lays back into the bottle, slams down another few gulps, enough to burn his guts, relieve his mind.

The liquid amber flows through him and it’s at least some sort of relief. He hasn’t hit the bottle this hard in a long time, maybe not since his first crisis of conscience, a fucking lifetime ago. Before he ever heard of Carrie Mathison, back when he still thought he could be a good person. 

But Quinn knows the truth now, understands he can never make the right choice because all his options are embedded with death, pain. It’s what he chose when he signed up for the job - he just hadn’t realized it at the time. It’s just shitty choice after shitty choice after shitty choice right up to the point where you have to sacrifice your boss to save someone you mostly hate yet partly love. 

And he thinks he despises himself most for that - for still caring about her after cutting himself off. That no matter how brutal she is, how disgusted he is with her, he will still do anything for her. 

If he didn’t loathe himself enough already, thinking about Carrie was always a great way to spiral straight to the bottom. Not only has he failed endlessly to get away from all the bullshit, he can’t even get away from her, the main source of toxicity in his life. Even the fucking booze isn’t quite getting the job done, has just dulled his thoughts so that they don’t hurt so much anymore, aren’t quite as sharp as they jab his chest. 

But it’s the best that he can do and it’ll at least knock him out eventually. Quinn hopes it’s enough to stop the dreams, thinks he just needs some sleep, a break from his brain. Then maybe he won’t feel quite so fucked up, won’t see the same endless loop in his head.

And he knows it’s fucking unlikely, that the guilt isn’t going anywhere, that the pictures aren’t just going to fade away. Still, Quinn tips back the bottle, sees he’s nearing the bottom and hopes that coherent thought leaves him soon.


	6. 4.2.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 things... 1) the writers made things very challenging by not giving the landlady a name. and 2) i'm sure the legal stuff is incorrect, pulling out the artistic license for that.

4.2.2

Quinn is half listening to the landlady tell him about dip ems, trying to ignore the invasion of any other thoughts. He wonders if she told him her name, thinks she must have but it’s slipped his mind. And mostly he questions what the fuck he’s doing there. Has blurry memories of the previous night, flashes really. A headache to match, just adding to the cacophony in his mind. 

But now she asks if he’s okay, says something about him moaning in his sleep. And all the images come flooding back - glass shattering, arms grabbing from every direction. He wonders what the hell he said in his sleep, then thinks he has a good fucking guess. He can’t evade Carrie, even in his sleep. 

So Quinn just tells his new friend the truth, as tersely as he can - that he’s had a rough week. And she seems genuinely concerned about him, this person that doesn’t know him at all. Asks him if he wants to talk about it. He thinks that’s a fucking change, that it almost feels good. 

But of course he can’t talk about any of it, wouldn’t know where to start. Says he would but he can’t, which is true on many levels. Still it’s nice of her to offer, such a normal gesture of kindness. It’s something he’s never really had.

So when he hears the assholes laughing it pushes something in him, and Quinn thinks at least this is something he can still do. Scare the shit out of a couple of scumbags, teach them a fucking lesson. 

It even starts innocently enough, just a little confrontation about a rude joke. But Quinn doesn’t want to drop it, even when she tells him to, says please of all things. Because this he can do, make these two fuckers show some respect. 

And then the idiot goes for it, tells his stupid joke anyways. Looks ballsy for all of ten seconds. 

Quinn looks away for a moment, taut as wire. And when he looks back the joker’s head is eating his plate, blood already starting to leak through.

Then, running on instinct, Quinn dislocates the other guy’s shoulder, head butts him for good measure. And it’s not until he’s got the napkin dispenser in his hand, ready to ram it through the first guy’s face that he realizes what’s going on, snaps back into the present. None of it had seemed particularly real as it played out, it had been automatic, reflexive. 

Quinn looks around, still not quite believing what had just happened. He’s breathing hard, feels his heart rate shooting through the roof. And his brain is still trying to interpret what the hell just occurred, just starting to get back up to speed. 

He sees the shock in everyone’s faces, rubs his hand through his hair. Swears to himself, knows he’s really fucked up again this time, knows where this is going to end up. WIth him in the lock up, a bunch of fucking cops on his ass. 

And, of course, with only one person who he can call. 

By the time the cops and paramedics show up Quinn’s slumped on a chair, decompressing, avoiding the concerned eye of his new friend. She’s tried to talk to him but he doesn’t have any answers, just shakes his head like he doesn’t know. He does manage to apologize though - tells her that he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean to flip out. 

Quinn says nothing to the cops, just nods yes when they ask him if he assaulted the two injured men. They arrest him, lead him out to the squad car. And he sits there, thinks that he’s really fucking lost it this time, that this has never happened before. 

His life has always been about tight personal control. It had to be with his set of skills, it came with the job. Lose it just once and there’s no telling the damage he could do. Yet now he’s obviously losing it a lot, fucking snapping in a nothing situation, reacting to a common asshole as if it were life or death. 

Then to top it all off he’s going to have to call Carrie, ask her to bail him out. This after days of avoiding her, trying his best not to think about her. Because every thought of her still fucking pisses him off, brings him back to the car, makes him relive the whole fucking thing. 

On top of everything that’s happened, it’s just getting to be way too much. His blown out brain, his fucking frail emotions. This insatiable desire to drink. The inability to think clearly. 

So this is it, Quinn thinks as the cops drive him to the lock up. This is how I lose my fucking mind. 

*

They let him stew in the cage for a while before they let him use the phone and Quinn knows it’s because he appears uncooperative, won’t say anything of use to them. But it’s better than opening his mouth and just fucking things up more.

So Quinn sits there with his head in his hands, too many emotions pulsating through his body. He still can’t believe he lost it so completely, even went blank for a moment as he shoved the guy’s face through the plate. 

And of course it just keeps bringing him back to the car, to the crowd. The incident in Islamabad touches every thought, coats everything with anger and frustration. 

Finally they let him make the call and Quinn sits there with the phone in his hand, feels both irritable and reluctant. Carrie is absolutely the last person he wants to be calling right now, the exact person he wants to avoid. But he knows he has no other choice and that he did it to himself. So Quinn sucks it up and dials her number, wonders how she will respond. 

“Yeah,” she answers, sounds annoyed. 

And he wonders how exactly to put this, thinks he just has to put it all out there. As hard as it is to admit he snapped, Quinn needs her help, has to be sure she knows it’s bad. With things as they are between them he’s not even entirely sure she will come get him. Though he holds onto a naive belief that she will always come through for him when the situation is serious, no matter how pissed off they might be at each other.

So Quinn just comes right out and gives it to her straight up. No preamble or excuses, just enough bare facts to get her moving.

“It’s me. Look, I beat the crap out of a couple of idiots and now I’m in the fucking police lock up downtown,” he says. “You think you can spring me?” 

“Are you alright?” she asks right away, sounds surprised but not angry. 

At least Carrie asks the right question, doesn’t lecture or accuse him. And obviously he’s not alright, she should already fucking know that, but it’s almost nice that she asked. It’s more than he expects from her at the moment. 

“Yeah, well. No. I guess not if I’m here,” he replies grimly. “So can you come to get me?” 

“Yeah, I’m on my way,” she replies without any hesitation. 

It’s a bit of relief to know he can still count on her for something. No questions asked, instant action. It’s not much but it does make Quinn feel a little less agitated to know she’s coming, that she’s at least on his side on this. 

And now he just hopes she can work a little of her manipulative Carrie magic in his favour, help him get the fuck out of jail. 

******

Carrie’s watching the nanny change the baby with the same feeling of trepidation she used to get from watching horror movies, thinking about this being her life now, stuck at home with her kid. It is too much to consider, simply not an option. 

So she’s tense when the phone rings, answers it abruptly. 

It’s Quinn, telling her he’s in the police lock up, that he beat the crap out of some guy. And it’s pretty much the last thing she expected even though she knows he’s having a hard time. Because Quinn is a soldier, does not lose control. 

She asks if he’s alright, is a little concerned when he says maybe not. Obviously things aren’t good if he’s in a cell but she didn’t expect him to admit it. So she tells him she’s on her way, runs out on the nanny. 

Carrie gets in her car and drives away from the house, immediately feels less anxious. Thinks to herself she shouldn’t feel so fucking relieved that something came up, that she should be pissed off at Quinn for getting himself into a mess that she now has to sort out. 

But she can’t bring herself to be angry at him for this, knows things have to be pretty bad if he’s losing his temper, injuring people in public. And she knows she’s been fairly harsh with him lately, thinks she can at least do this. 

*

Carrie breezes into the cop shop, broadly flaunts her credentials and demands to talk to the arresting officer in Quinn’s case. 

The cop she’s directed to looks to be a veteran, appears to have been around the block a few times. Does not seem impressed with her government ID, just looks at it grimly and shakes his head. 

“So what’s the charge?” she asks, tries to assess the severity of the situation. Thinks it can’t be as bad as the Javadi thing, when the cops found that picture of Quinn and thought he was the killer. But then again it wasn’t like she could say beating the shit out of these two guys was a matter national security.

“Felony assault,” the cop replies seriously. “Two counts.” 

Carrie sighs to herself, thinks they are being dicks for no reason. To try and charge him with a felony for what amounted to a bar fight was ridiculous, could ruin someone’s life. 

“Come on,” she says with a look of disbelief. “A felony offense? You know that’s stretching it. He has no record, he’s one of ours. You’ll never get any of this to stick.”

The cop scowls, gives her an ice cold glare. “Whoever the hell he is, he fucked up. Put one guy in the hospital, basically tore the other guy’s arm right out of the socket. So don’t tell me it’s not first degree assault. From where I stand it’s an open and shut case, witnesses everywhere. And your guy hasn’t said a word, so it’s not like he’s helping himself any.” 

Carrie takes a deep breath, tells herself to take a step back. Pushing this guy isn’t getting her anywhere, he only seems to be getting more pissed off. So she pulls back, tries to figure out a back door play. 

Thinks about Quinn, about everything he’s been through in the past few days. And though he’s been a dick through the whole situation, uncommunicative and angry, she is only just starting to understand that he’s really not okay. 

Now she gets it that the cops think he’s just an asshole who lost his temper and beat the shit out of a couple guys for his daily jollies. Which is even true to an extent, just not the part where he meant to hurt anyone. Because as deadly as he is, these days he’s more likely to save a life than take one. 

“The thing is, he’s been through a lot lately,” she starts, tries to build some understanding. 

But the cop just scoffs, acts like he’s heard that line far too many times. 

“Yeah, well so has the guy who’s face is in shreds,” he retorts. “Over a hundred stitches. Because of a dumb joke. That guy is dangerous, he shouldn’t be out on the streets. I don’t care if he’s the fucking director of the CIA.” 

Carrie huffs angrily, thinks this isn’t getting anywhere. That the cop just has to understand the situation, get that Quinn isn’t the bad guy here. And she knows it’s up to her, that he’s going to get a lot of flak for this if she doesn’t manage to get him out. 

So she takes a step closer, calms down and looks at the cop, enforces eye contact. 

“Look, I know you think this is all bullshit, that he shouldn’t get away with something like this just because he’s ours. And if I thought he was out of control, that this wasn’t an isolated incident then I’d agree that he should be locked up,” she starts. 

The cop is still glaring at her but she continues talking before he has a chance to respond. 

“But I will personally guarantee that this won’t happen again. And I will get the fucking director to back the guarantee right to the top if that’s what it takes. He needs help. And we will get him the help he needs but first we need to get the charges dropped. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But either way, I am going to walk out of here with him,” she finishes. 

Of course the cop doesn’t back down, just looks more pissed off. 

“You think I haven’t heard all this shit before?” he asks irritably. “All you fucking spooks and feds, think the law is beneath you. So unless you can come up with something real fucking good, I’m locking your guy up and the goddamned director himself can come deal with it.” 

Carrie groans to herself. thinks the last place on earth she can imagine Lockhart is at the police lock up, trying to stand up for Quinn. And this cop is being particularly stubborn, seems determined to follow procedure. 

So she pulls out the only thing she has left - the truth. Takes a deep breath and looks directly at the cop. 

“Okay, look. I’m sorry. I know he fucked up. And I know it looks bad. But he watched his boss get beaten to death by a mob three days ago. He almost died. Hell, I almost died. And he’s been really fucked up ever since. PTSD, acute stress reaction - all of that shit. He’s not himself right now, none of this would have ever happened if he was okay. And now I just need to get him out of here, get him some help,” Carrie explains, starting to sound desperate. 

Thankfully the cop seems to make the connection to the videos of Sandy’s death, furrows his brow and looks more contemplative, less pissed off. 

“Records show he just came in from Pakistan,” the cop says, showing her an open door for the first time. 

Carrie nods, confirms his inference.   
 “Yeah,” she replies. “Things really went to shit there. And he blames it on himself. But he saved my life out there. So you see I can’t just leave him here. He’s not well. But putting him in jail is just going to make things worse. Please. Let me take him off your hands, get him what he needs. I personally guarantee he won’t reoffend, that this will never happen again.” 

The cop stares at her grimly for a long time and Carrie stands her ground, gives it right back. Finally the cop grunts and scowls. 

“Misdemeanor battery, maximum fine. And restitution to the victim,” the cop grumbles, does not sound happy about it. “And you make sure he doesn’t fucking lose it again unless he wants to spend the next ten to twenty in the pen.” 

Carrie breathes a sigh of relief, feels a wave of it pass through her body. Smiles genuinely at the cop, thanks him as politely as she can. 

The cop leads her out of his office, shows her to the cells in the back. And as she goes to finally spring Quinn from jail Carrie suddenly realizes that everything she said to the cop was in some ways true, that Quinn really might be losing his mind. 

Which is definitely problematic because she doesn’t exactly have the capacity to deal with any of his shit at the moment, has a full plate of her own. But at least she managed to get him out, hopes it takes some of the sting out of their relationship for the moment. 

******

Quinn feels like he’s been sitting in the cell forever, head throbbing, taut with anger. Finally he hears footsteps, sees the flash of blonde he’s been begrudgingly waiting for. 

“They’re letting you go,” she says. 

A layer of stress slides off immediately and he stands up, surprised. Thinks it’s unlikely she’s managed to get them to drop the charge considering the damage he’d done. 

“No charges?” he asks. 

“A fine, and you’ll have to deal with that guy you put in the hospital, I guess he’s all cut up,” she replies. 

He nods, thinks he’s getting a good deal. At least he can still count on the old Carrie CIA magic dust. 

“They’re pretty pissed, the cops were,” Carrie continues. “I had to play the PTSD card.”

Quinn takes a breath, doesn’t know what to say. Wants to avoid the issue completely but owes her at least this for getting him out. The hard part is knowing she’s not far off the truth, that he can’t fucking escape the car, no matter how far he goes. 

“So what happened?” she asks. 

“Nothing, it was stupid,” he replies truthfully. Does not want to talk about it, especially not with Carrie. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

And Quinn thinks the answer to that one is obvious, that he wouldn’t be in a fucking jail cell if he was. 

“I thought I was until I found myself beating the shit out of some idiot for no reason... almost no reason,” he answers impatiently. “And now I just want to get out of here!” 

Thankfully Carrie is her typical self, doesn’t push him on how not okay he might be. Goes right into telling him he missed the meeting with Lockhart, tell him she’s being forced to stay. 

“He called it accountability,” she says, obviously pissed. 

“Meaning for someone besides him,” Quinn replies, gears starting to turn. He knows how Lockhart operates, typical politician, looks for scapegoats. And then there was the guy he told Carrie about.

“This thing was fucked from the start,” Carrie fumes. “And the one person who can actually say why is being buried tomorrow. I should be in Islamabad figuring out how this happened not holding Lockhart’s hand at some Senate hearing.” 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s good to get out of there for awhile,” he suggests. Thinks he could not imagine being back in that situation again so quickly, that he needs some time to get his fucking head back on straight. 

“Yeah, it’s working wonders for you,” she snaps back. And Quinn wonders what else he expected - that she would suddenly turn around and see how fucked up it all is? Or see how he’s struggling and actually give a shit?

And then she’s off and running again, asking him about Harris. Which he knows is the right way to look if they want to find some answers. But right now he could care less, can barely handle his own existence. 

Then finally they tell him he’s released, and Quinn stalks out the door, desperate to get the hell away from there. 

“Well, what do you say, want to come along, pay Harris a visit?” Carrie asks.

“Not really,” he replies, thinks he needs a drink or ten instead. Does not want to go anywhere near the situation, does not want to think about Islamabad. 

“Why, you got more brawling to do?” Carrie asks, sensitive as always. 

“Maybe. Who knows,” he gives back. Feels irritable, vulnerable. Does not want to let her know exactly how much he can’t deal with any of this right now. 

“Well if you do, feel free to call me again,” she replies in a tone dripping with sarcasm. And he has no reply to that, thinks it’s true he needed her help and she came for him. Still, that just makes it sting more to know he owes her, and that she can see him having a hard time, just doesn’t seem to care.

“Honestly, this kinda brightened my day,” Carrie finishes. 

Which is, at least, not what he expected. He wonders what she means, then remembers he doesn’t care. Let Carrie’s shit be Carrie’s shit, he tells himself as they walk out towards her car. He’s unable to deal with himself at the moment, needs to get back poolside quickly, knock his brain out for awhile. 

******

Quinn’s sullen and silent on the drive to his place, obviously does not want to talk about what happened. Which is fine by Carrie. She has enough to deal with at the moment without fighting with him, has to figure out this situation with Jordan Harris, then somehow turn it into a ticket back to Islamabad. 

But she does notice how tense he is, can smell the hangover on him. Thinks she’s never really thought of Quinn as much of a drinker until now. But he seems to have gone hard at it the previous night. 

Which really she can’t blame him for, thinks she would have liked to have done the same. But somehow it’s different with him, makes Quinn vulnerable in a way she isn’t used to. 

So when they get to his latest spartan apartment she parks, doesn’t just drop him off. Then gives him a pointed look when he glances over, confused. Quinn gets out of the car and glares at her as she does the same. 

“Do you need something?” he asks with a frown.

Carrie looks at him, raises her eyebrows. “I’d like to know what’s going on with you,” she says. 

Quinn grunts, looks away. 

“Well I’ll let you know when I know,” he mutters. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? Talk to Harris, find out what the hell is going on?” she asks, thinks Quinn could use the distraction. 

“Fuck no,” he responds, shaking his head.

“So you’re just going to what, drink yourself into a hole?” she asks, a little more acid in her tone than she meant. 

Quinn gives her an iron look, the one he uses when she’s struck a nerve. 

“Maybe,” he replies, equally acidic. “Why the fuck would you care?”   
Carrie frowns, does not like this Quinn she’s seeing. Touchy yet hard, trying to push everything off. And she thinks she wasn’t far off the mark, that he really is having some sort of stress reaction to what happened. But she doesn’t know what to do with him, has a lot on her mind already without the added burden of a mentally distressed assassin. And really she thinks he just needs to snap out of it, wake himself up and get his shit together. 

“Well I fucking cared enough to come get you off the hook,” she retorts, sees him glower as he realizes she’s got a point. 

Of course he doesn’t reply, is playing his silent brooding game. And she doesn’t have the time for this, needs to figure this thing out, somehow get herself on a plane back to Islamabad. But she also can’t just abandon him, not when he’s clearly fucked up. At least has to make an attempt. 

“Fuck, Quinn. Just tell me you’re going to be alright so I don’t have to worry about you being armed and alone,” Carrie says with a sigh. 

And it just makes him look more tense, agitated. 

“You think I’m going to eat my gun,” he mutters. 

“No I think you’re going to see the bottom of a bottle. And then anything could happen,” she replies, knows its true.

“Well, like I said. No need for you to worry,” he snaps, stalks off. 

“Good because I personally guaranteed the cops that nothing else is going to happen,” she throws right back, pissed at having all her attempts to give a crap about him deflected. 

Quinn pauses briefly, turns and gives her a look she can’t read. She knows he’s defensive because he fucked up. But she doesn’t think he’s a danger to himself yet, thinks he just needs some time to let things percolate. 

So Carrie lets him walk off silently, tries to ignore the sense of foreboding in her chest. Tells herself she has other things to take care of, that Quinn can deal with himself. Yet as she drives away, she uncharacteristically finds herself still thinking of him, telling herself to check up on him later.


	7. 4.2.3

4.2.3

Carrie drives away from Langley, frustrated and irritable. She’s sure Jordan Harris knows something about what happened in Islamabad and can’t quite figure out how to get it out of him. The guy is tense, doing his best not to make waves now that he’s been royally fucked over once. But maybe she can work that to her advantage, let him know she can help him.

She wonders if Quinn knows more than he’s saying, thinks he must have seen something during his time in Islamabad. Not like he would share with her at the moment, would probably throw her out for showing up at his door. 

Carrie sighs, remembers telling herself earlier to look in on him, that he bears watching. Though right now she feels exhausted just thinking about it, knowing that everything is a battle with him at the moment. Yet it’s better than going back to Maggie’s, dealing with the life that she’s dreading. 

So she drives up to Quinn’s, wonders how she’s going to get him to talk to her. Is walking into the courtyard when she hears a woman’s voice, talking loudly by the pool. 

Carrie’s not sure if she’s surprised to see Quinn, barely conscious, lolling on a pool chair, an empty fifth of whiskey bobbing in the pool, another half-empty by his side. She is rather surprised, however, to see the woman trying to rouse him, a large redhead who seems to know him. 

The woman is telling ‘Peter’ he needs to get up, get to bed. But Quinn is having nothing of it, can’t quite speak by the looks of things. 

And it’s fucked to see Quinn this wasted, with no bodily control whatsoever. He’s twitchy, sloppy, even just lying in the chair. Trying to speak but not quite forming any sounds. 

Carrie watches for a moment before the woman finally notices her, gives her a look that says ‘do you need something?’

Carrie’s immediate reaction is to say who the fuck are you? But she holds back, doesn’t need to start a fight when it’s obvious the woman is right - that Quinn needs some help. 

“Here, let me help with him,” Carrie sighs, as she approaches. 

The redhead is still hovering over Quinn, shaking him and getting a bare minimum response. 

“I don’t think there’s much you can do,” the woman says. “He’s pretty out of it.” 

And she’s definitely right about that, Quinn is flailing on the lounger, only half-conscious. The woman shakes his shoulder again to indicate his state and for a moment it looks like he might snap out of it but then he just leans over the side of the chair, pukes up a slurry of alcohol and stomach acid.

Carrie raises her eyebrows, thinks that’s another thing she never expected to see. Is a bit concerned about Quinn’s state but knows he’s just got to get it all out, be put to bed. Which is, again, not something she expects from him. But she’s here now and she can’t exactly just leave him in a messy heap by the pool.

So she sits beside him, nudges the redhead out of the way. Puts her hand on Quinn’s shoulder and shakes him sharply. 

“Quinn. You’re a mess. Get up,” she says sternly, loudly. 

The result isn’t perfect but it’s enough. Quinn snaps his head around, opens his eyes to look at her. Shakes his head, grabs her hand. 

“Whaaaaat’s wrrrrrong?” he slurs, drawls it out in uneven syllables.

“You’re fucking wasted, that’s what,” she snaps at him. Hopes to keep him talking at least.

Quinn shakes his head, looks to be drifting off into half-consciousness again. So Carrie gives him a little slap on the cheek, just enough to stir him. Thinks she’s going to need some assistance from him if she’s going to get him into his place. 

“Wake up, Quinn. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says. “I need your fucking help on this, you know.” 

And for a moment he looks all business, tries to hop to his feet but stumbles. Carrie helps him up though and they manage a few steps, him leaning haphazardly against her. 

She has to give him credit for being fairly ambulatory despite his condition and they zigzag their way to his place where she finds the door unlocked, the floor littered with alcoholic debris. 

Quinn staggers to the bathroom and she watches him hurl up another round of alcohol and stomach acid, thinks it looks like he hasn’t consumed anything but alcohol all day. 

Carrie still can’t get over the state he’s in, has never seen him lose control in this way and she isn’t exactly thrilled to be there, to be the one figuratively holding his hair back as he loses the contents of his stomach. But she’s there now and can’t exactly just leave him like this, half-conscious on the bathroom floor. 

So she waits, lets him heave until he’s got nothing left then watches as he leans forward, passes out. 

Carrie shakes her head, asks herself how she ended up being the one to deal with Quinn. Thinks it’s her own fault, that she put herself in this position by letting him get too close, to the point where she actually gave a shit about him.

And now she’s here, waking him up, helping him pull his shirt off. She can tell he’s still confused why she’s there, tries to push her off as she’s trying to help.

“Fuck off, Carrie,” he mumbles. “I don’t need you.” 

Carrie huffs in annoyance, just wants to get him off the bathroom floor and into bed. Does not need to pointlessly fight with him while he’s wasted. They do enough of that already while sober, she thinks. 

“Well, fuck Quinn,” she replies. “I can’t just leave you here on the floor. Let’s get you to bed and then I’ll leave you the fuck alone.” 

Quinn gives her a sloppy drunken version of his serious irritated look and it’s almost enough to make her amused at the situation instead of annoyed. Reminds her that he may be a stubborn asshole but he’s also a friend, one of few in her life. And she figures this is a one off, that she’s never going to see him like this again, that he actually does need help. 

“Come on, bedtime for the drunken sailor,” she quips sarcastically, helping him off the floor. 

And he scowls again but accepts her assistance, lets her stumble him into bed, where he passes out instantly. 

Carrie sits on the edge of the bed, watches him for a moment. Thinks he should be fine now, just needs to sleep it off. But she can’t pretend she isn’t concerned about him, that coping by drinking is not a sustainable option. Not that she hasn’t been guilty of the same. But this is out of character for Quinn, makes it feel like he’s really far gone. 

She knows he’s no stranger to emotional crises, that he has his ups and downs. But through it all he’s always been solid, steel. Someone she can count on. 

And now Carrie can see he’s bad off but she has no idea what to do about it. In some ways she feels like she doesn’t fucking know him at all, that there are layers to Quinn that she’s only caught glimpses of. Yet it’s clear he’s having a hard time, really fucking struggling. And she knows it has something to do with her. 

But Carrie also knows she can’t crack his hardened veneer, not with the defensiveness she’s seeing in him. Thinks there’s not much she can do for him, that he’s a big boy, can take care of himself. Because the truth is she is having a fucking hard time herself, does not have the capacity to worry about Quinn too. 

“Please be okay, Quinn,” she says to no one in particular. Because he has to be alright, she can’t have it any other way. Yet she can’t do anything about it either, just can’t deal with his issues right now.

So she gives him one last look, sighs to herself with a sad half-smile. It’s somehow endearing yet disheartening to see Quinn so defenseless, all his demons escaping through the hole in him. She hopes it’s just temporary, that he gets his shit together once she figures out how to get them back there, find out what the fuck is going on. 

Carrie stands up to go. Shakes her head, sighs again at the situation in front of her. It’s too much in every way, work, family, Quinn, all going to shit at once. And all she knows is she needs to get the fuck away, needs Quinn to just go back to being his reliable self.

Because something big is happening and she needs something, someone, to back onto. 

******

Quinn wakes with a start, fleeting images of blood in his mind, a parched wasteland in his mouth. He groans at the thunder in his head, the rawness of his guts. Wonders how he made it to bed when the last he really remembers is being poolside. 

It’s a battle to slough himself out of bed to get some water, try to alleviate the alcoholic desert in his mouth. But with a concerted effort he makes it out the bedroom, manages to slam back some water before lying down again on the couch, hand over his eyes. 

He’s trying to make sense of the collage of memory flashes in his head, mostly remembers finally getting rid of Carrie in the afternoon and starting in on the first bottle of rye. There’s some flashes of his new friend, the redhead and he remembers her scolding him about glass bottles again but by then he must have been pretty far gone already, can only just see the edges of the memory. 

And then there’s a few scenes he thinks must be from his dream. Carrie sitting on his bed, asking him to be okay. Because that was ever going to happen. 

Yet it seems quite clear, stands out vividly through the memory mash. And then other odd images pop through, stumbling home supported by someone. Puking up alcoholic sludge, a certain presence standing behind him. 

All of which adds up to something he doesn’t want to consider, especially with the raging headache he’s already experiencing. Thinks it’s all too unlikely anyways, that his head is just filling in the blanks with fictional material.

Quinn closes his eyes, tries to deny the veracity of what he vaguely remembers. Is sorting through what’s possibly real and what’s a dream when he hears a knock on the door, the voice of his new redheaded friend asking if he’s alright. 

And he is and he isn’t. But either way he figures he should at least tell her he’s fine so she’ll leave him alone until his headache abates. He does remember her trying to get him up the previous night, that she seemed concerned about him as always. So he at least owes her an apology, hopes he didn’t do anything worse than pass out at the pool. 

Quinn opens the door, gives her his best attempt at a smile. 

“Hey. Sorry about last night,” he mutters, hopes that’s all she’s looking for. 

She gives him a considered look, frowns a little, looks concerned about his disheveled appearance. 

“You were in quite a state,” she replies, raising her eyebrows. 

Quinn sighs, does not like it when he has gaps in his memory. It makes him feel out of control, unlike himself. 

“Yeah. Well, thanks for getting me home,” he says, remembering that she was trying to get him up at some point, thinks it’s the only way he would have made it to bed. And it explains the memories of being helped up the stairs, of someone watching him pray to the porcelain gods. 

But looking at her, Quinn realizes right away that he missed the mark. She’s wearing an expression he hasn’t seen from her before, somewhere between concern and irritation. 

“That wasn’t me,” she replies, gives him a pointed look. 

And Quinn groans, knows exactly what that means. That he hasn’t conflated real life and his dream, that the flashes of false memory are likely real. 

“Oh,” he says, rubs his eyes with a clammy hand. “So she really was here.” 

She nods, gives him a pointed look. 

“Yeah. Who is she?” she asks. 

Quinn exhales loudly, thinks this is exactly what he doesn’t need at the moment. He doesn’t even know the answer to the question, much less how to explain it to this relative stranger. 

“A friend,” he finally mutters. Thinks to himself he’s not even sure of that but there’s nothing else he can say. 

“She isn’t very nice,” she replies. 

And Quinn finds the energy to at least smirk at that, thinks to himself, no, no she isn’t. But he isn’t about to talk about Carrie with his new friend, especially when just thinking about her makes his head pound even harder. 

So he just grimaces, gives a little nod to indicate his agreement with her statement. And thankfully she gets the hint, doesn’t push it. 

“Well, just wanted to make sure you didn’t drown in your own vomit,” she says, a little snappily. 

Quinn groans internally, thinks he didn’t need that piece of information verified again. He can’t remember the last time he was so far gone he puked but he does recall that he hadn’t eaten anything the previous day. Not that it helped him feel any better about the situation, just added to the list of things hanging over his head. 

“Thanks,” he manages to mutter. “But you don’t need to check up on me.” 

She looks like she disagrees but doesn’t argue the point. Just gives him another disapproving look and says “okay then” before turning and walking away. 

Quinn closes the door, runs his hands through his bristly hair. Exhales loudly then sits down, tries his best to elicit the reality of the night before. 

He brings himself back to the pool deck, remembers the redhead trying to get him up, then suddenly Carrie is there and she slaps him softly. Quinn startles at the memory, can still feel the little smack on his cheek. And now he can hear her scolding him through the haze of drink, remembers getting up because she tells him he has to. 

Great, he thinks. Even two bottles drunk he can’t escape her effect. But he supposes she did haul him home, clean him up. Which is too much to contemplate at the moment, makes his throat constrict. 

Because he still wants to be pissed off at her, gets worked up every time she hits his mind. Which is all the fucking time. His personal trigger for flashbacks, dreams, all that shit. So that doesn’t exactly help, has him caught up in that fucking moment, in the choice he made. 

Quinn knows he’s losing it, has never been so affected by something. Not even when he killed the boy. He lived through that a lot too. But it wasn’t like this. 

So he sits, head in hands, trying not to think about Carrie. Pretends to himself that he isn’t dreading every minute of his future. Sandy’s funeral, all those people. Everyone’s seen the video, seen him leave the scene, leave Sandy to die. 

And just thinking about it is enough for the mental tape to play again, throws him back into the car, Carrie yelling in his ear. He relives the choice, plays his role. Feels the pain the moment, the claws of doubt. 

Which just brings him full cycle, back to forgetting, or at least trying to black it out. Quinn looks around, finds a bottle with a few shots left in it. Uncaps it and throws down a shot, feels it hit his raw stomach, relaxes as it travels to his brain.

He tells himself the funeral isn’t until the next day, then wonders if he’ll have figured out what to say to Carrie by then. Not that anything has an effect on her, but clearly she still has a fucking effect on him. Because his head is a wreck and it’s not just the hangover. It’s this in and out game they play, somewhere between colleagues and friends, somehow responsible to each other. 

But whatever Carrie is playing now, he knows he can’t play along. He’s a fucking wreck, a danger to himself and everyone else. And right now he has no intention of stopping the downward spiral so Quinn tilts his head back, downs the rest of the bottle.


	8. 4.2.4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup, still plodding my way through this... will update the other one (syria) soonish too though

4.2.4

Quinn walks in late, nearly an hour after the funeral is done. He approaches slowly, is probably surprised to see her still there, most likely expected to have the place to himself by then. 

But Carrie hadn’t been able to leave either, stuck somewhere between what happened in Islamabad and her determination to figure it out, make it right. Because she knows she has some culpability in Sandy being in that box, was the one that didn’t follow up on the job in the first place, the one who didn’t figure it out before innocent people started dying.

She wonders what Quinn’s thinking, has not been able to figure him out since the incident. He looks tense as usual but at least he’s sober, with only a whiff of a hangover. 

“Could have been us,” he says. 

Carrie’s a bit surprised he initiated the conversation, didn’t realize they were back on normal speaking terms. Thinks maybe he’s evened out, gotten back on track. 

“I’m glad it wasn’t,” she replies. Though really she feels numb about the whole thing still, knows dimly that she hasn’t quite processed everything that’s happened. Yet putting it all aside has made it easier to carry on, figure her way back. 

“Yeah, me too,” Quinn responds, slow and terse. He stands rigidly, stares at the coffin.

“I didn’t see you here,” she says, trying to draw him out. Wonders what the hell is going on with him.

“I thought...”

“What, another call from the lock-up?” he mutters as he crosses himself, sits down behind her. 

“At this point nothing surprises me,” she replies, looking back at him. Thinks about the other night, pouring his liquid body into bed. Thankfully he looks all business now, serious and sober. 

And really it’s perfect timing for Quinn to show up, seemingly better, ready for life. It’s why she looked for him so carefully, why she knew he definitely wasn’t there. Because he’s exactly what she needs, someone to go back there with, someone to watch her back. 

So Carrie tells him the good news - how his tip panned out, what she’s found out about Sandy’s secret-trading situation, that they need to find out what’s going on, the extent of the damage. And she expects some sort of response, at least a little spark of interest but Quinn is stone-faced, doesn’t react except to look away, back at the coffin.

“Did you hear me?” Carrie asks, looking for something, anything from him. 

But he just keeps at it with the thousand yard stare. Says yeah, but sounds a world away.

So Carrie tells him the other news, that Lockhart just gave her Islamabad. To reinforce that they need to get back at soon as possible. That she’s in charge now, and is going to find out what the hell went wrong. 

And then Quinn tells her no, that he’s not going back. 

Which hits her completely out of left field - she hadn’t seen it coming even with how fucked he’s been. Because she knew Quinn was having a rough time but he’s never been anything but reliable, always ready when she needs him. Well, except for Kabul. Yet this is different - he has a personal stake in it, should be jumping at the chance to take down whoever killed Sandy, fucked them all over. 

“What do you mean? Of course you are,” Carrie replies, thinks there can’t be any other answer but yes. 

“No I’m not, not for awhile at least,” he says calmly, like he isn’t fucking her over entirely, as if he’s not the only person she can really trust. 

“But I need you now,” she retorts, looks at him like he’s crazy, thinks he doesn’t get what’s at stake. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” he mutters, sounds sure. Defeated. 

Carrie sighs internally, bites her lip and looks at him, really looks. Sees he’s still taut as wire, ready to explode, maybe implode. And she doesn’t want to go there, talk about it. But it no longer seems avoidable, not if she wants to get anywhere with him. Because it’s clear now that there’s actually something wrong with Quinn. And that doesn’t fit her plans at all.

“Look, I know you were upset by what happened out on the street,” she says, trying her best to sound understanding. “If it wasn’t obvious, so was I. Maybe it didn’t seem like it at the time...”

“Carrie,” he interrupts.   “I was,” she retorts emphatically. Thinks he doesn’t know how it is to be her, to have no fucking setting other than empty, numb. 

But Quinn just gives her that knowing flick of a smile, like he is bemused by her trying to talk to him, like he doesn’t believe her at all. Which of course irritates her, rubs right at her sore spot. 

“You don’t know what I went through with Lockhart to sort this out,” she says, starting to be pissed off. Because her plan had been going perfectly until right this moment. And she never thought that this thing with Quinn would go so far, that he would refuse to help out when she really needs him to back up against. 

“How can you do this to me?” she asks, her fury clear in her voice. 

But Quinn still just sits there calmly, looks at her with those dull eyes. 

“Carrie, here’s the thing,” he finally says, slowly, explicitly. 

“It’s not about you.” 

And she has nothing to say to that, just looks at him, trying to decipher what the hell is going on. Because he can’t possibly be rejecting her so completely, thinks he will change his mind if she can just get through to him. 

But there isn’t any doubt in Quinn’s eyes as he gives her a long look, then gets up, walks away. Leaving her alone, telling herself she isn’t crushed by his refusal, that it doesn’t hurt even worse than when he jumped ship before Kabul. 

Because she really thought there was something between them, some sort of unexplained connectivity. That Quinn would always be there for her when she needed him. And that premise had already been tested, stretched. Yet she hadn’t considered it a failure until now, sitting in an empty church, Quinn’s last words still ringing in her ears. 

She thinks it’s not fair of him to put it all on her, that she needs him for the mission, to find out what happened to both of them. And distantly she sees that it’s her mission, that it’s her need to get back to Islamabad, away from her life here, all the shit she can’t quite deal with. 

But Carrie still can’t believe he doesn’t care enough to go back with her, doesn’t get how he can’t shake it. Because, no matter what she tried to tell him, she really hadn’t been very upset about it - not considering what happened, how traumatic it should have been. And Quinn is a soldier, has been in war zones, has killed and been attacked in every way. 

Yet clearly he’s lost his shit now, is no longer the man, the friend, the operative she thought he was. And if he’s not on her side, unable to get over it then there’s nothing she can do about it. Not like he’s going to straighten out his head and put away the booze just because she tells him to. Clearly she has no influence on his decisions anymore. 

So that’s that, Carrie thinks. The end of yet another relationship. Ditched by her only friend yet again. She feels the predictable mix of anger and sadness, then lets the indignation push the hurt away. Tells herself she doesn’t need him anyway, that she’s better off without him if he’s going to be a wreck. 

But underneath it all there’s a niggling feeling she can’t place, a drop of something amongst the anger. She tries to push it aside, cover it up, yet it won’t leave, sticks with her even as she finally gets up to go. 

And as she sits in her car, trying to think about getting back to Islamabad but still only thinking about Quinn, Carrie finally figures it out. That there’s something beneath the part of her that is just pissed off at him, at his inability to shake things off and do what she needs. And she can’t quite see it, can only just feel it. Tells herself it isn’t what it seems like - worry for a friend, one that has always done his best for her. 

Because she has no time to be concerned about Quinn. Yet she can’t seem to shake him from her mind. 

******

Quinn leaves the church, his last words still ringing in his ears. 

It’s not about you, Carrie. 

Considering how long he’s wanted to tell her that, he thinks he should be more proud of his efforts. But really all he feels is the same acute sense of guilt he’s felt since he was out on the street with Sandy and Carrie, the one that has infused his life. 

Yet now it’s not just the guilt of having let Sandy die, of making a decision that resulted in the death of a colleague. Now she’s added on a new weight, made it seem like he’s doing this to her vindictively, that he’s losing his shit just to piss her off, let her down. That his mental breakdown is nothing but one big inconvenience to her. 

Not that Quinn wanted to go with her, not even if he could, if he wasn’t a fucking disaster of flashbacks and guilt. But it still punched a hole through him to hear her say she needs him, then to tell her no. No matter how he rationally knows it’s the right choice, that he can’t do anything for her in the state he’s in, that he doesn’t want to go back there, be a part of all that shit. It still guts him to say no to her, this person he both loves and hates. 

Quinn gets in his car, drives home, only stopping to pick up a new bottle, something to get him through the night. He tries not to think about how this is now his routine, that he’s spiraling at a quicker rate than he thought possible. 

Because really it just signifies to him the reality of his situation. That he can’t do this shit anymore, that he needs out of the game, that he’s let it all get to his head. 

And of course it’s not the first time, but right now Quinn hopes it’s the last. That this is what actually pushes him over the edge, gives him the opportunity to fall out of the CIA. Because he’s already come to the fitful understanding that losing his mind is pretty much the only way he is ever going to get himself out. 

Which isn’t exactly a great trade off. But right now it’s not looking like he’s got much choice in the matter. His head is nearly fried with the constant running of the mental tape, reliving his fucking choice over and over throughout the day. 

And the really fucked up part is he never regrets his fucking decision, that he feels guilty as shit but always makes the same choice. Even in his fucking dreams. 

Which then just leads to more guilt, a little more pressure in his head, his chest. And it just increases in increments throughout the day, a little with every run through. A lot when Carrie fucking accuses him of ditching her, of leaving her when she needs him the most. 

Because as if Carrie fucking needs him for anything other than to argue with, blow up at. He knows exactly how it is with her, that it’s all Carrie all the time. And right now he can’t even deal with himself, much less have her on his hands. 

Still he feels like shit about saying no to her, then berates himself for feeling anything at all for her. Tells himself she’s a fucking heartless monster, ready to kill anyone in her way. Then remembers he still chose her, even under those conditions. And doesn’t regret it. 

Which of course just spirals back to the ultimate guilt, setting the whole cycle off again just as he pulls into his complex, more than ready to start the bottle. 

Quinn walks to his place, already relishing the thought of a tall, stiff drink, brainwaves dulled by booze. Picks up an envelope stuck to the door, wonders who would be leaving him a note. 

He enters and picks up some random debris from his last bout of brain-numbing. Sits down, dumps the remnants of a stale drink into a take out container, hastily pours himself a fresh one. 

Opens up the note before he takes a slug and it turns out to be from his new friend, the redhead, even has a lipstick kiss planted on it for good measure. 

No one ever fought for me before. 

Quinn stares at the piece of paper, tries to block the incoming thoughts out of his mind. But he can’t help but see the words for what they really are. Not a note of thanks but a cosmic reminder of his unending failure. To be the man he wants to be. To stop with all the death, find a source of life. To do what’s right for once. 

He takes a drink, can’t stop looking at the accusing piece of paper. Thinks it must be all the shit karma he’s accumulated, everything he’s been trying to put away in the past. And the truth is Quinn thinks he deserves it all, that he’s done enough damage to incur the worst. 

Yet it doesn’t lessen the pain of self-hatred, of desire. He knows she’ll be alone out there, will piss everyone off immediately. And part of him thinks it serves her right, that she’s used him for the last time. But he also knows there’s something fucking wrong with her, that she needs help as much as he does. Also that nothing good can come of Carrie in Islamabad, running the show on her own. That it would be the end of the Carrie he once knew, could easily end up with her dead. 

So the reality is she does need him, just not in the way she thinks. And the worst part is he wants to be there for her. Yet the reality is Quinn can barely fend for himself right now, that he cannot possibly withstand being back in Islamabad, back where it all happened. 

So where the fuck does he go with that? Nowhere obviously. Except down the fucking black hole in front of him. 

Quinn picks up his drink, puts down the note. Thinks this is his penance, his chance at redemption. For them both. 

Then shakes his head, tells himself he’s making shit up, giving himself a reason to fuck it up yet again. Slams down the rest of the drink. Pours himself another.

Closes his eyes, lets the alcohol wash it all away.


	9. 4.3.1

4.3.1

He’s in the car again, the crowd lifting it off the ground, tiny bits of glass flying everywhere as windows shatter, people leap in. Carrie is fucking yelling in his ear, screaming for help as disembodied arms yank her out the door, throw her to the concrete. And, as always, there’s nothing he can do, is strapped back by invisible forces, can’t fucking move as he watches the crowd beat her with wooden batons, stomp on her in full force. Hears her call for help, scream his name in blood-soaked gasps.

Quinn snaps awake, his heart racing, his lungs momentarily seized. Blood still rains in his mind’s eye, he hears echoes of his own voice hollering her name. 

The rawness in his throat indicates he’s been shouting in his sleep again and he instinctively turns his head to see if he’s awoken his bed companion, wonders if she’s going to ask him about it yet again. 

Thankfully she’s pretending to be asleep, seems to have caught on that this isn’t something he can talk about. Which is the really the best thing about spending time with her - that he actually can’t tell her anything, that their relationship is limited to a bottle, meaningless conversation, simple kindnesses, and physical release. 

Quinn gets up, shakes his head in an attempt to slip out of his perpetual hangover. Groans internally as he remembers the previous day - drinking the afternoon and evening away after losing his shit at the fucking interviewer for pushing him about Carrie. 

He can still hear her in his head asking if they’re romantically involved, can still feel his emotions pop in response to the question. And he’s pissed off because he knows it was Adal trying to push his buttons. Yet he still can’t control it - the primal urge that comes up anytime she’s brought up, the anger he experiences when they try to use her against him. 

Quinn’s with it enough to know it’s his own fucking fault - that he only reacts this strongly because he can’t let her go. But he has little control at the moment and hadn’t expected to be ambushed like that at his exit interview. Which was the point of course. 

Quinn exhales angrily, thinks about getting up to shower. Hears an incessant knocking at his door and groans again. With Carrie in Islamabad it can only be one person. 

So he puts on some shorts, goes to the door and tells Adal to fuck himself. But he knows it won’t end until Adal’s been dealt with so Quinn lets him in, takes the fucking donuts and concentrates on not killing his former boss. 

Adal tries to make like he’s genuinely concerned about Quinn’s wellbeing, deliberately kicks at the beer cans, reminds him that the group takes care of their own. 

Which of course pisses Quinn off even more, makes him remember exactly why he needs to get the fuck out. 

“I don’t belong to you, or to the group, or to anyone anymore,” Quinn states firmly. 

“Once a scalp-hunter always a scalp-hunter, isn’t that what they say?” Adal replies in that irritating way of his. 

Not me, thinks Quinn. I’m done. Can’t be fucked to do any of it anymore. 

“That’s what you say,” he snaps back. “That and you’re my guy, Peter.” 

“Well, I invested a lot of time and money into you,” Adal retorts. 

Well you picked the wrong guy, thinks Quinn. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he says back flippantly. 

But of course it’s fucking Adal, knows exactly how to flip a conversation on it’s end, play it in his favour. Use his opponent’s weakness against him.

“You should be sorry,” Adal replies. “Those morons in that diner didn’t deserve that.” 

Quinn has nothing to say to that, knows it’s true and doesn’t bother to deny it. Just stares irritably at his former boss, wonders how the fuck he can just get out of this situation. There’s silence between them for a long moment and finally Quinn concedes the point.

“Alright, so what now?” he finally asks. 

“Simple. Convince me that you can keep your shit together from now on,” Adal says. 

And Quinn thinks it’s not that easy, not the way he’s been feeling lately. 

“Or else what?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“I believe they call it re-training,” Adal replies insinuatingly. 

Right, of course, thinks Quinn. It’s what he signed up for. 

And like any top predator, Adal jumps in for the kill while Quinn is still off-kilter. 

“Course, we both know the real explanation for all this,” Adal says, indicating the general disarray of booze. 

“What’s that,” Quinn asks dully, feels something ready to blow.

“This isn’t about PTSD,” Adal states. “It’s about your feelings for Carrie Mathison.” 

He should have fucking expected it but it still burns every time. Adal’s been on this track ever since the fuck up at the motel, when he waited until the last second to fucking shoot Carrie to save her from herself. 

As if not wanting to have to shoot someone, hoping for a better resolution indicated love, desire, whatever. And now. To tell him the fucking flashbacks, the uncontrollable anger, the need to live life in a bottle is all just because he’s a sad sack, pining away for Carrie. It’s too fucking much. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn asks, wonders if Adal is just trying to make him snap again. Thinks it might be worth it to kill him. 

“If she hadn’t been in that car Sandy Bachman would be alive today,” Adal fires back. 

Quinn tries to play it off, does not want Adal to know the depth of the nerve he’s struck. Because there is a lot of validity to his statement, yet nothing that Quinn is willing to discuss with Adal.

“That really what you think?” Quinn asks. 

“Come on, tell me I’m wrong,” Adal challenges. 

“You’re wrong,” Quinn fires back. “I did all that I could and you can watch it online for fuck’s sake.” 

“I’ve seen it!” Adal snaps. “The whole fucking Agency’s seen it. You took your eye off Sandy to save Carrie. You left him to be beaten to death in the stree...” 

Quinn doesn’t remember making the decision to choke his boss, just suddenly has his arms around Adal’s neck, feels a rush of release as he watches Adal struggle for air. 

Quinn increases the pressure on Adal’s windpipe, just enough to bruise it, not quite enough to break it. Though there’s part of him that just wants to go all the way, rid the world of the fucking snake. 

But he hasn’t completely lost it yet, can’t quite justify killing Adal. So he lets go, exhales a panicked breath, feels the thrum of his heartbeat. His body is taut with anger and adrenaline as he stares at Adal, wonders why the fuck he can’t just kill him. 

And of course Adal just looks at him snidely. 

“Well done, Peter,” he says. “I knew you weren’t that far gone.” 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Quinn replies, hopes he never has to fucking see the man again. 

“Have a nice life,” Adal quips as he leaves. 

Quinn leans against the couch, still reeling with adrenaline, emotion. Swipes his hand through his hair, tries to process the newest problem in his life. 

Of course it fucking involves Carrie because that’s what it always comes down to for him. And the worst part is he knows that Adal’s mostly right - that things would have been different if it hadn’t been Carrie in that car. That Sandy might not be dead, that he made a choice and he chose Carrie. 

But this fucking insinuation that it’s because he’s in love with her. It sends his ever present anger into the red zone, mostly because it’s at least possibly true. Because he can’t even explain to himself the effect she has on him, finds himself doing, thinking the most uncharacteristic things. 

Yet he thinks of Carrie now and only sees a heartless, self-absorbed, manipulative machine, someone he can’t even bear looking at, much less love. But the problem is the pain he still feels when he sees her like that, the sense that he’s abandoning her. 

Quinn’s lost in his thoughts, has almost forgotten there’s someone else there, that the bedroom door was open this whole time. Until she steps into the doorway, draped in sheets. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, sounds genuinely concerned. “Who was that?” 

Which is a question that shouldn’t even be asked, much less answered. So Quinn just smiles innocently, tells her it was no one. And in a way it’s true, the man is a shadow amongst shadows, a name known to very few. 

And he looks at her, just a regular civilian, no idea of the dark depths people can fall to. Blinks and realizes she’s already seen too much, that the booze has made him sloppy. He’s broken his own rules - no personal info, no overnights at his, nothing about the job.

Fuck, Quinn thinks. Just one more thing he’s managed to fuck up. 

******

Carrie’s at the new side op, the ‘journalism’ office, catching Max and Fara up on the situation, going over the plans for the next day. She can tell both of them are nervous, particularly Fara but it’s to be expected. Carrie’s antsy herself, feels the jitter of excitement that comes with a new op, something to move on. 

She finishes telling Max to be careful, that they have no official cover if they’re caught in the act. Leaves him to finish setting up the computer systems and checks up on her own space in the office, wants to see if her computer there is on the network yet. 

Carrie closes the door behind her and sits down at the computer. Starts it up and looks around, feels a sense of satisfaction at what she’s managed to set up in the course of a couple days. 

The computer is on the network and everything seems in order as Carrie checks the system, logs into her email. 

And there’s a new message, somehow ominous in the lack of subject, the hidden identity of the sender. It shouldn’t be possible in their secure system and she’s about to ask Max about it when she changes her mind, thinks she had better see what it is first. 

Carrie clicks on the message and the email is short and precise. One sentence.

You are going to get him killed. 

And an attachment, a video. 

Heart starting to race, wondering if this has something to do with Sandy, Carrie presses play. 

It’s a black and white video of an interview and at first she can’t figure out what she’s watching. 

A blonde woman is on screen, asking about nightmares, says something about seeing someone’s head disappear in a puddle of mud over and over again. 

It’s not until Quinn responds, tells her he snapped, that there’s nothing else to say, that Carrie realizes what she’s looking at. An exit interview.

Something in her shivers, wonders why the fuck this has been sent to her. It clearly contravenes all regulations, obviously violates confidentiality. She knows Quinn would not want her to see this, yet she can’t help but keep watching. 

“Obviously we need to talk about recent events in Islamabad,” the interviewer continues.

“Obviously,” Quinn replies using his familiar pissed off tone. 

“What about the two men you killed on the ground there?” the interviewer asks. 

“What about them?” Quinn answers in his usual taciturn way. 

“Do you think about them?” 

“I do not,” Quinn replies, looking rigid and tense. “I think about Sandy and Carrie and the choice that I made.” 

Carrie notices that she’s a bit tense herself, is not at all sure she wants to see the rest of it. It’s too weird, awkward to see Quinn on screen, vulnerable and clearly still hurting. But it was sent to her for a reason and she knows she has to watch it, if only to find out how he really is. 

“Carrie Mathison,” the interviewer states. 

Carrie watches, a bit surprised by the way the woman brings her up, the tone in her voice. Like she knows something, like this is her ace up the sleeve.

“Yes,” Quinn says stiffly, clearly does not want to talk about her. 

“She came up a lot last time we talked,” the interviewer continues. 

And Carrie’s surprised at that too, wonders what the hell Quinn said about her previously, thinks it probably wasn’t anything good. 

“I don’t remember,” Quinn replies, using that look he gives when he’s stonewalling. 

“You said she was one the reasons you wanted out of Dar Adal’s group,” the woman continues.

Which is news to Carrie, something she has never even once considered. She expects Quinn to say no but, as always, he surprises her. 

“Maybe she was,” he says seriously, automatically. 

“She didn’t approve of targeted assassinations?” the interviewer asks.

“No I was the one having the problem, not her,” Quinn states firmly, redirecting the conversation back to him. 

“The agency is worried that you might want to talk about all that one day,” the woman says, accuses. Like Quinn is going to write some sort of tell all book about his life in black ops. He barely fucking talks at all anyhow, Carrie thinks. And who’s he going to tell? He has about as many friends as she does, she muses wryly.

“Well you tell them not to worry, I know what I agreed to,” Quinn replies calmly. 

“And what about Carrie?” the woman continues. 

Carrie watches, absolutely sure she should not be viewing any of this. Does not see what it has to do with anything, wonders where the fuck this woman is going with her slightly leading questions. Of course by this time Carrie knows they’re Adal’s questions, remembers exactly how much Adal dislikes her. Yet she can’t figure out what Adal’s exactly getting at, why he’s so interested in what Quinn thinks about her. Because as far as she can see, Quinn’s sprung her loose, given up. Exactly what Adal wants. 

“What about her?” Quinn asks in a tone of frustration, bordering on insubordination.    
“You just said you had a choice to make in that car,” the interviewer states. “You chose her.” 

Carrie hears the woman say it and immediately feels something freeze in her chest, something beyond the numbness that she’s been holding there. She immediately presses pause on the video, stares at a freeze frame of Quinn looking extremely irritated. 

Plays a mental video of that day, on the street in the car. It comes in vivid flashes, Quinn telling her to look for another gun, under the seat. She remembers being annoyed with him for arguing with her about it. And now she sees it in a totally different light, all of it. Why he didn’t go after Sandy, why he’d been so angry at her afterwards. After she had yelled at him, basically called him a coward. 

He was trying to protect her, and of course all he got for it was a bad case of PTSD and accusations of not having done enough.

And now she knows why Adal sent her the video, is his way of accusing her, saying that it’s her fault Quinn is fucked up, telling her that Sandy’s dead because of her. 

Which is something she hadn’t considered at all. That Quinn had chose her over Sandy. That all of his current problems come from questioning that choice. 

Carrie stares at the screen, tries to just breathe and avoid feeling overwhelmed by what she’s seen. She’s surprised how guilty she feels, how the video has made her reflect differently on everything that’s happened, on this problem between her and Quinn. Then remembers she hasn’t watched to the end yet, that the video has a few more seconds to go. 

Carrie takes a deep breath, steels herself for whatever might come. Hits play, watches as Quinn unfreezes, sinks back into being his pissed off self.

“Is that a question?” he asks, with the same stonewalling look. 

“Are the two of you romantically involved?” the interviewer asks. 

Quinn asks “what!?” on the screen at the same moment Carrie says it to herself. Where the fuck had that come from? she wonders, immediately pissed off. It’s no wonder that Quinn looks furious, Carrie’s surprised he hasn’t completely lost it on the interviewer. Especially considering how volatile he is these days. 

“Answer. Please,” the interviewer continues.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Quinn replies. 

Carrie wonders why he doesn’t just say no, flat out. That he fucking hates her guts for calling him out right after he saved her life, that whatever he might have seen in her before is dead, gone. 

But of course Quinn takes the high road, refuses to be baited. Does not reveal anything, just sits there, staring at the interviewer, 

“Let me be the judge of that,” the woman replies. 

Quinn sits for a moment, then seems to relax, come to a decision.

“You know what? Fuck this,” he says, looking up at the cameras. Gets up and walks out of the room. 

The video ends but Carrie just sits and stares at the computer, tries to absorb, understand everything she just saw. Adal trying to push Quinn’s buttons, using her to do it. She thinks it’s obvious Adal knows there’s nothing going on between her and Quinn, that he was just asking the question to rile him up, goad him into spilling something. 

But that thing about Quinn choosing. Choosing her over Sandy. It hits her hard in that spot where her heart once was. No wonder he’s so fucking pissed with her. No wonder he bailed. 

It was only a matter of time, Carrie supposes. Everyone bails in the end. Even Quinn, Mr. Reliable. And it’s always her own fucking fault. 

She said some harsh things to him, especially in this new light. It’s no longer a mystery why he told her to fuck off so emphatically that day, has been so pissed off at her since. 

And it’s fucking hard but she has to just forget it, move on. Feeling guilty about it isn’t helping anything, just makes her think back to everything that’s happened, gets her stuck in the past. 

Yet she wants to call him, at least tell him she’s sorry for losing it at him at the embassy, after he’d just saved her life. Which is a terrible idea, can only lead to him wondering what the hell could get her to rethink events, apologize for flipping out at him. 

Just illicitly watching you blow your exit interview, Carrie thinks to herself. She wonders who he’d be more pissed off at - her or Adal.    
But mostly she thinks about Quinn, about how much this is fucking him up. That the guy she knows, that she relies on, is lost himself - trying to run. 

And she thinks she can’t let this happen, that she has to pull him back somehow. Yet Carrie knows she’s got nothing left, that she tried her best with him and he still said no. Which is what it always comes down to in the end, that point of no return that she pushes past. 

So Adal wins this round, she thinks as she shuts down her computer, sits for a moment in the dark, quiet office. She will leave Quinn alone because there’s nothing else she can do, no other words to say. And now she knows it’s partly on her, that she fucked things up with him yet again. 

But as Carrie gets up to leave the office she’s also somehow sure that this isn’t the end of it, that both she and Quinn still have a part to play.


	10. 4.3.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haven't given up on this! see if i can make it to the end before next season starts...

4.3.2

He’s been watching them all day, the videos the whole fucking Agency has seen. Bottle in hand of course, from the moment Adal left the place. 

Reiterations on a theme, the view from every angle. Not that he needs the fucking reminders of how it was - still sees it in his dreams every night, during flashbacks in the day - each time just as vivid, real. But now he’s trying to see how it looks from the outside, what Adal and everyone else sees when they watch the videos. 

It’s like a horror movie on repeat, Sandy getting dragged out of the vehicle, pulled away by the swarming arms. On the ground, surrounded by the crushing mob, getting stomped on, beaten. 

The now-familiar feeling of helplessness assails his heart, empties his chest of any warmth. Leaves him frozen, ice cold, as the pictures on the screen become scenes in his head. 

He’s yelling at Carrie and the fucking window smashes, arms everywhere, a dead man at the door, Sandy begging for help. Carrie trying to run out into the crowd, screaming at him that they can’t just leave, Sandy still hollering as he’s left to die. 

His heart is going double-time, his breath short and aspirated. It’s all so fucking real, every time it happens. The moment of choice, fucking terrified the crowd is going to take her too. 

Panic sets into his chest, he shoots but it doesn’t matter, the mob’s too big. They’re hauling Sandy off and he’s frozen, can’t make the move. Carrie’s screaming at him and he knows he’s failed yet again, watches Sandy die in the rear view mirror. 

Then is suddenly thrown back into his kitchen, the fucking laptop in front of him, the glass by his side. 

Quinn remembers what Adal said, that everyone’s seen the video, that everyone’s watched him run. And he thinks how no one knows how fucking hard it was, what it was like to have to make that decision. And now to watch it a thousand times, relive it every day. 

He thinks about Carrie, already back in Pakistan, risking her life for what amounts to nothing, an endless game of death and subterfuge. He wonders how long until the ISI have their targets set on her, what he will do if she comes home in a box. 

It’s fucked but Quinn still feels guilty for staying, no matter how much he knows he can’t possibly be there right now, back in Islamabad where everything will trigger the fucking flashback. No matter how much he just wants to get out of the game for good, get the hell away from this life he can’t shake. No matter how irritating it was that Carrie had just assumed he would shape up and jump aboard her mission, ignored every obvious sign that he is seriously fucked up over this shit. 

He just can’t shake the feeling that he’s giving up on her, that he’s letting her lose her soul to the same demon that’s destroying him. And yet there’s nothing he can do, would be a liability even if he could stop drinking long enough to get on a plane. 

Which just brings him back to the moment, mid-afternoon, still in a robe, with his two new companions - YouTube and a bottle. 

Quinn groans internally, feels the despair grind away in his gut. Then fills his glass, drains every drop. 

*

Quinn wakes to an unfamiliar sound, finds himself face down hanging off the bed with a familiar pounding in his head, the taste of death on his tongue. 

Pushes himself up to his feet, throws on a robe, walks the length of the hallway and realizes what has to be done. He had let his guard down, he let another human into his space. An innocent. A nice person. Someone who never should be touched by any of this shit. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, brusquely. Even though it’s clear what she’s doing. He just doesn’t like it, can’t have it. Too invasive, close. 

“You okay?” she asks in return. “You went out pretty hard last night. I was worried. ” 

And that makes him startle, think fuck, how did she get close enough to worry? 

Not that he shouldn’t be worried about. Just not by her. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn asks again, looks at her irritably. 

“Just policing the area, a little bit,” she replies. 

“Yeah I see that,” he interjects, knows that he’s overreacting but also knows he can’t have this, that he’s violated his own rules. 

“You know dust becomes dirt and then before you know it you owe me your entire security deposit,” she states reasonably. 

“Can you just stop?” he asks angrily. Just wants her to leave, get the hint and take off before he totally loses his shit.

“What? Cleaning?” she asks, still clearly not getting it. 

“Talking!” Quinn says, loudly. 

It’s finally silent for a moment and he takes a breath, leans against the pillar. At least he’s still with it enough to do this, and all he has to do is unleash the asshole within. 

She walks up to him, looks him straight in the eye. 

“Did I do something wrong here?” she asks. 

Which is perfectly reasonable, because of course she hasn’t. As always it’s his fuck up. And this time she’s the one that’s going to suffer. 

“No, I just think you should leave now,” Quinn says coldly. 

She looks confused for a moment, then upset. 

“Ok, I’ll go,” she finally says. 

Quinn doesn’t look at her, just says ‘okay’ back in a dismissive tone. 

“I’ll get my stuff,” she replies, pushing past him. 

Quinn breathes an internal sigh of relief, thinks at least it’s fucking done. And what does it matter that another person thinks he’s a total asshole? It’s basically the truth, as he sees it. Because he doesn’t exactly feel like he has any redeeming qualities right now. 

“Can I say something before I go?” she asks. 

He turns and looks at her, wants to say no but can’t bring himself to. She deserves a chance to have her say, he thinks. 

“All this, it has to do with that CIA guy on the news right?” she asks. “Couldn’t help but overhear.” 

And of course she says the worst thing possible, exactly why she has to leave now. 

“You don’t know what you heard or didn’t hear,” Quinn states emphatically. “Do you understand?” 

“Jesus!” she replies. “Peter, you’re scaring me.” 

“You should be scared,” he snaps back. “These people do not fuck around.”

Please take this fucking seriously he thinks. Just leave and go back to your normal life managing an apartment complex. Forget this all ever happened, remember me as the jerk that flipped out at you for no reason.

“What I wanted to say to you,” she finally replies, with a little edge in her voice. “Is that nobody should have to go through what you went through. Nobody. And if that guy shows up here again I’d say it to his face.” 

Quinn looks at her, fights the urge to like her, smile. 

“I’d like to see that,” he replies. Wonders what the hell Adal would make of his new girlfriend. 

“I really would.” 

She walks towards the door and he thinks the deed’s finally done when she stops.

“I went to the store, you know there’s um a roast chicken in the fridge and some eggs and cereal. You know, to go along with your liquid diet,” she says. 

Quinn grinds his teeth, just wants her to go, stop doing things for him, pretend he never existed to her. 

“And um. Whoever Carrie is...” she continues. 

Quinn looks up sharply at that, wonders what the fuck it is that these moments in his life always come back to this. 

“She’s a lucky girl,” she finishes. 

With that it’s finally over and she walks out the door, leaves Quinn staring after her, lost in his own head.

He wonders if he will ever be able to shake this accusation that dogs him, that he’s lost it because of Carrie. And if he’s honest with himself he knows there is some truth to it all, that he can’t fucking get her out of his head. Not that he would call it love, nothing even close to that. But definitely an attachment, an attraction. 

And as much as Quinn tells himself he’s finally let go, said no, he knows it’s a lie, that he’s obviously well and truly fucked up over it all. He’s pissed off at her, disgusted by her. And yet when he thinks of her alone in Islamabad, no one she trusts to watch her back, he can’t help but think he should be there, that he can’t lose her to this. 

******

Carrie’s huddled in the corner groaning as loud as she can when he bursts in, tells her he’s a doctor. 

She stands up, tells him he’s in trouble. That she’s a journalist, the London Bureau Chief. And the boy is clearly scared, tries to leave but she holds him back, presses up against the door. 

Carrie suddenly tells him to be quiet, pretends to be listening to movement outside the door. An old ploy but effective as usual. By the time she assures him that there’s no one outside the boy has calmed down, isn’t trying to run anymore. 

Now is the moment to reel him in, put her skills into action. 

She puts her hand on his arm, uses their closeness to her advantage. Tells him he’s part of an important story that needs to be told. Swallows the irony, the hypocrisy as she pleads with him to tell her what happened to his family, how the CIA was involved. 

And of course the boy is still scared, tells Carrie he can’t say anything. It’s what she expected but she needs a clue as to what he’s scared of, what she needs to offer. It’s all part of the game, she thinks. And it’s a game she’s good at. 

“What are you scared of? Who’s threatening you?” she asks. 

Aayan doesn’t reply and Carrie knows she’s already found her answer. 

“Because I can protect you. I can even get you out of Pakistan if that’s what you want,” she says. Offering hope to a desperate man, it’s that easy, she thinks. 

Aayan pauses, is clearly thinking about what she’s just said. And Carrie knows she’s close now, that she’s nearly bagged an essential asset. 

“In exchange for what?” he asks warily.

“I told you,” she replies. “Your story.” 

He resists again, tells her he can’t. Makes a motion to leave so Carrie pulls out her next weapon. 

“Do you want to continue your studies in England or the United States? I can do that too. How does the Royal College of Physicians sound?” she asks. “It’s not a problem.” 

The boy doesn’t reply but he doesn’t try to leave again either. And she knows she has him then, that she’s found the right incentive for this particular asset. 

“I’m putting my card in your pocket okay,” she says softly, slips her hand into his pocket, slides it against his thigh. Moves even closer, until there’s barely any space between them. Lets the closeness exist for a few beats. 

“You won’t ever see me again if you don’t want to,” she reassures him. “But you should want to. Especially if you’re in any kind of danger.” 

Aayan looks uncertain, tries to tell her no again. But Carrie knows she has him, that he will contact her again. So she tells him to leave, to say that she had women’s problems. 

And as he’s leaving she realizes that this may be her only chance to say one more thing to him, something she’s been trying not to think about this whole time. But it’s something that has to be said, she tells herself. Because it has to be true.   “Whatever you decide,” she says. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to you. And I wish you luck. ” 

The boy leaves and Carrie takes a deep breath, runs her hands through her hair, lets herself smile for just an instant. 

She’s almost certain she has him. The boy is afraid and has no where to turn except to her - all she has to do is wait for him to show up at her door. And he is the perfect asset, a relative of Haqqani and obviously already somehow involved in whatever the fuck is going on. 

Carrie smiles again, is relieved to know that she’s still got the touch, that she was able to recruit the boy even after he was frightened off by Fara’s initial approach, by his new status as a wanted man. And it’s right then that she also realizes she hasn’t felt this kind of satisfaction with her job in a long time now, since before Afghanistan, before Iran. 

This is what she’s meant to be doing, Carrie tells herself. Not hiding in a bunker, ordering drone attacks. This is her game. 

And it suddenly occurs to her that maybe this was what Quinn was trying to tell her in his usual obscure manner. That she’d lost her focus, lost who she was. 

Part of her acknowledges the truth in that, that something has been missing in her for a long time now. That she’s been running on autopilot, devoid of emotion, enveloped in a hazy cloud that distances herself from her own life. 

And it’s hard to admit, even to herself, that Quinn knew it before she did, that he did everything he could to try and help. That she had fought against it, refused to listen, burnt all her bridges the way she always does. 

She’s still pissed off at him for not coming, for falling to pieces. And now there’s the added guilt of knowing it’s because of her, that he’s fucked up now because he saved her life and got nothing but grief for it. She hears the interviewer’s voice flash through her head, saying ‘You just said you had a choice to make in that car. You chose her.’ 

And look where that got him, drowning in doubt and booze, unable to live with his choice.

Fucking Quinn, how did he end up invading nearly all of her thoughts? 

Her moment of triumph lost, Carrie leaves the bathroom and hurries out of the restaurant, heads back towards the embassy. Thinks how there’s no one there she can even share her news with, not a single person she trusts. 

Realizes she may have gained an asset but she’s still lost everything else.


	11. 4.3.3

4.3.3

The morning has turned to afternoon but with the blinds tightly drawn it permanently feels like the dead of night, all sense of the outside world effectively shut out.

Now that he’s gotten rid of his only human contact it’s back to basics. Just him, a bottle, and the videos. 

Quinn clicks on yet another link, sees the mob from yet another different angle. And each one is the same in so many ways but he can’t stop watching, examining his actions from every angle. 

So he still lets Sandy die a hundred times a day, each time as bad as the last, every click another reminder of his mistakes. 

Quinn breathes sharply as the new video starts, feels the familiar weight of regret build up in his chest. Watches intently, tries to pick up every nuance of the scene, remember the situation exactly. 

And then suddenly he pauses the video, doesn’t even really know why. But there was something there, a piece that didn’t fit. 

Rewinds it, plays it forward slowly. Spots what’s wrong, different. A man on the outskirts of the crowd, his hand to his ear, the only person not watching as Sandy gets stomped to death. 

Quinn immediately recognizes the body language, thinks to himself that’s the stance of a man on an earpiece, then starts to realize the implications of his thought. He focuses in on the man in question but can’t quite see what he’s talking into. Yet Quinn feels a buzz in his gut, a little life after so much despair. 

Clicks through a few more videos, looking for another angle on the mystery man. Finds one from the right viewpoint, sees his target on the video, something in his ear. 

Quinn blinks, can’t quite believe what he’s found. The guy actually does have a fucking comm on. Which can only mean one thing. 

The whole thing was staged, put on by the ISI to kill Sandy, blame it on street violence. 

“Fuck me,” he mutters to himself, realizes this puts a whole new spin on the situation. That whatever Sandy was up to involved the ISI at a high level of clearance; that his little off book spy game got him murdered. 

That the new chief of station in Islamabad, there specifically to investigate the circumstances around Sandy’s death, would likely be in danger too. 

The thought splinters in his chest, sticks painfully to him just like every other thought about her right now.

He’s still angry she blamed it all on him, that she couldn’t see how much she hurt him with her accusations, her coldness. And of course it hadn’t helped that he blamed himself too; that Adal, the CIA, they all fucking jumped on board to pin it all on him. 

But now Quinn knows they never had a chance, that Sandy would have ended up dead no matter what he did. And either the ISI just wanted Sandy taken out and decided to let him and Carrie go or he managed to get away while they were preoccupied with their main target. But regardless, Sandy was dead because the ISI wanted him dead. 

And with that thought Quinn feels a flood of relief, almost gasps as the tightness in his chest releases for the first time in a week. The worst week of his life.

But of course he’s immediately hit by another realization, one that ties him back up in a mash of emotions.

He’s going to have to call Carrie. 

Because what if the ISI want her dead too?

As much as he’s still fucking pissed at her, this is something she needs to know immediately. That the ISI is running this operation, that she’s likely in serious danger. 

And it’s that thought that finally makes him reach for his phone, dial her number. 

******

Carrie makes it back to the embassy still in an elevated mood from making solid contact with a significant potential asset. It’s the start of the game and she’s ready to be player one, find out what the hell is going on. 

She enters her apartment, sticks a frozen meal in the microwave, pours herself a generous glass of white. Takes her meds with a mouthful of wine as the microwave chimes. Removes her heated dinner and sits down to yet another late solo meal. 

Of course her phone rings the second she sits down to eat and Carrie looks up in annoyance, knows a call at this hour is likely of high significance. Especially if it’s coming to her cell, a number that isn’t exactly widely distributed. 

So she stands up, leaves her dinner behind. Walks over to find her phone in her purse, looks at the incoming number and immediately feels tense, on edge. 

Hears his last words to her ring through her head.

‘Carrie, here’s the thing. It’s not about you.’

And then he’d walked away, leaving her alone yet again. After all they’d been through together he just up and ditched when she needed him the most. She’d even tried to tell him so. But clearly he was over it, didn’t give a shit about her anymore. 

Which was obviously her fault. Well, not so obviously that she knew it then. 

And now. Well. 

Now she knows why he was so upset, sees her role in his implosion. But it only makes her more defensive, to know that she’s mostly the reason he left. 

So now Carrie wonders what the hell could bring him to call her after she thought he was done with her forever. Picks up the phone unsure of what’s to come. 

“Please don’t say you pocket-dialed me,” she finally says a bit snappishly. Thinking it’s the only reason she can come up with for his call, then realizing that thought makes her upset. 

“We never had a chance,” Quinn says forcefully, out of the blue. 

And she has no idea what he’s talking about, wonders if he’s really gone off deep end. 

“What do you mean?” she asks tiredly. 

“In the car, with Sandy,” Quinn replies, talking a bit fast. 

“What makes you say that?” she asks, not sure how to deal with Quinn in this state. “Are you alright?” 

Carrie’s surprised to feel a tightness in her stomach as she asks the question, didn’t realize she was actually worried about him. But it hurt to hear him so agitated, possibly mentally unwell. She knew the symptoms all too well.

“It was pre-meditated, the whole thing from start to finish,” he continues. “There was a guy in the crowd with an ear-piece coordinating the whole thing.” 

And now she feels a breath of relief as she concludes that maybe Quinn’s not losing it, that he might be telling her something she needs to know. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

“I just sent you the link,” he replies. “Go to your computer.” 

“Hold on,” she says, her interest now definitely piqued. 

Carrie walks over to her computer, logs in and pulls up Quinn’s email, clicks on the link.  
“All right, got it,” she says into the phone as the video starts playing. 

“See the guy on the corner?” Quinn asks.

“Yeah,” she replies, still unsure what he’s getting at.

“He’s wearing a comm, Carrie,” Quinn explains. 

And right then she sees it to, the guy’s hand goes up to his ear and he’s definitely talking into an earpiece. Which brings her to exactly the same conclusion Quinn came to. That it was all a set up, that the ISI had put the scene together to off Sandy and blame it on mob violence. 

“Jesus, Quinn,” she states. 

“We never had a chance,” he replies.   Carrie exhales loudly, unsure of what to make of all this. Realizes that this actually helps in a way, that it’s somehow relieved some of Quinn’s burden of guilt for the whole thing. But also knows it complicates her own situation as station chief, that her job just got exponentially more dangerous. 

The man on the comm turns his face to the camera just for a moment and Carrie freezes the frame. 

“You recognize him?” she asks. 

“I don’t. But he’s got to be Pakistani intelligence right?” he says. 

“No one else could have pulled something like this off,” she replies, agreeing with his assessment. 

But then she thinks about it for a moment, realizes this new information doesn’t really make a lot of sense. Sandy was leaving the country anyways, why kill him after leaking his picture and forcing him out? 

“The question is why,” she adds. 

“What do you mean?” Quinn asks. 

“Well, Sandy was blown. He was already going to have to leave the country. Why kill him?” she replies, confusion mounting in her own mind. 

Quinn doesn’t answer and her question hangs in the silence between them. She wonders what he’s thinking, if he realizes what this means. 

If Sandy was killed by the ISI then something huge was in the works - nothing else could justify a foreign intelligence service authorizing the murder of a CIA station chief. And now she’s the one in charge of figuring it all out, has put herself in Sandy’s shoes, right in the line of fire. 

And the real problem is Carrie has no one she can really rely on, doesn’t trust anyone at the station. Any of them could have been in on the deal with Sandy and the ISI, there was no telling how far the secrets, the corruption ran. Which is the reasoning behind the second station, just Max and Fara, so she knows no one there is compromised. But Carrie also knows they aren't enough, that she needs someone inside the embassy that she can trust to have her back. 

Which means she needs Quinn. 

“Quinn,” she says, pulling all of her persuasiveness together. She has to convince him to come back, that she really fucking needs him. 

“What?” he asks, a bit gruffly. 

“This changes everything,” she says. “It means I really need you now.” 

Quinn doesn’t reply right away, sighs irritably. 

“No, I’m sorry, Carrie,” he finally says. “I can’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if there was somebody else here I could count on,” she replies, knowing that she is preying on his weakness but also knowing she’s telling the truth. 

And again he’s silent, doesn’t respond. 

Come on, Quinn, she mentally projects at him. Be the guy I know you are.

“Don’t make me beg,” she adds, wondering if he can hear the real desperation creeping into her voice. 

“I’m sorry I can’t do it,” Quinn replies with some force, an edge in his tone. 

“Please,” Carrie says, realizing she’s down to her last chance, that begging is now her only hope. “Please.” 

“Shit, Carrie,” he finally says.

“I know,” she replies, trying to let him know she understands where he’s at, what she’s asking of him. 

“You’re the hardest person in the world to say no to,” he finishes irritably. 

She can barely believe what he just said, feels a flicker of hope deep within her internal turmoil. 

“Is that a yes?” she asks, a smile slipping across her face. 

Again Quinn doesn’t reply and Carrie takes a breath, realizes what this means, that she has a chance to figure this all out, that he hasn’t straight up abandoned her. 

She smiles immediately, is suddenly doused in thankfulness for him, for being the one person she can still rely on. 

“God, I fucking love you, Quinn. You know that don’t you?” she says completely honestly. Because she really does fucking love him at the moment, feels an intense wave of relief just knowing that he’s there for her. 

Quinn’s silent again for a couple of breaths, finally just mutters ‘yeah’ before hanging up the phone. 

He sounds completely defeated, totally despondent. And part of her feels bad having convinced him, pulled him back into the game. 

But the greater part of her is fucking pleased as hell, feels like she’s gaining some real traction now with two big wins in one night. 

Carrie sits back down at her meal, still hyped on excited energy. Smiles to herself, tells herself she’s still got it, that all is not lost. 

Because Quinn’s coming back, hasn’t actually abandoned her. And while he doesn’t exactly sound pleased about it, she tells herself it’s for the best, that he shouldn’t be home alone. Not with Adal trying to fuck him over, playing with his head. 

Part of her knows she’s lying to herself because it’s clear that Quinn is still off-kilter, that coming back could make things worse. But she wants him there, even if it’s bad for him, even if it’s not at all what he wants. 

And Carrie’s used to getting what she wants, usually at the expense of others. So she pushes the guilt back, justifies it all to herself. 

Eats her tasteless dinner, still a bit giddy from the phone call. 

Thinks again that she really does fucking love him at the moment, that nothing else could explain the contentment she feels knowing he’s coming back. And it almost surprises her that her emotions are so genuine, that, for once, she wasn’t just playing him, using him the way she usually does.

******

“Don’t make me beg,” she says. 

Please don’t beg, he thinks. Feels his willpower waning with her every word, the hint of desperation in her voice. 

He tells himself she doesn’t actually need him, that this is just the same old Carrie bullshit. Getting what she wants, no matter the cost. 

“I’m sorry I can’t do it,” Quinn replies, tries to put some force into his response. 

Tries to silently will her to stop arguing, just shut up. Because it still hurts every time she tells him she needs him, every time he says no. 

And then there’s the traitorous part of him that tells him she’s right, that she’s in the middle of a deadly situation with no one looking out for her. 

“Please,” Carrie begs. “Please.” 

Of course she won’t give in, Quinn thinks. It’s how she always gets her fucking way. 

He’s tired just thinking about it, dealing with all of her shit, with who she is. Sits down, tries to gather what strength he has left.

“Shit, Carrie,” he finally says. Thinks how it always comes down to this. 

Her needs vs his needs. Her health and well-being against his. 

And then the ultimate question - why does he even care what happens to her after all that she’s done, when it’s clear she doesn’t give even half a shit about him. 

“I know,” she says, even though she doesn’t know at all. 

“You’re the hardest person in the world to say no to,” he finishes irritably.

And he’s said it before he even really realizes it, knows exactly that she will take it as a yes. The worst part is he’s almost glad it slipped out, that he’s just given in to his fate.

Because she burns in him, in a way he can’t seem to extinguish. Though being with her is nearly as painful as being without. 

“Is that a yes?” she asks.

And he can almost hear the smile slipping across her face, pictures the sly look she gets when things are falling into place. 

Which just makes him feel used, though that’s nothing new. But it makes him feel needed too, can tell she’s genuinely pleased he’s going back. 

And that just makes him fucking miserable all over again, angry at himself for falling into it all again, giving into Carrie when he knows he should stay the fuck away. 

He doesn’t bother to answer because now they both know he will go. Because he can’t fucking say no to her, because he still fucking cares. No matter how much he doesn’t want to. 

And then, out of the blue, she says just about the worst thing possible, exactly what he doesn’t want to hear. 

“God, I fucking love you, Quinn. You know that don’t you?” she says, even sounds honest. 

And of course he doesn’t know it at all, definitely can’t deal with Carrie saying something like that to him right now. Tells himself it’s just a fucking thing to say, just another way to manipulate him. Tells himself she doesn’t have any idea how to love anyone, anything. 

Pretends he’s never considered saying those same words to her, had them almost slip off his tongue. 

Of course in the end he has nothing to say at all, just mutters ‘yeah’, hangs up the phone. 

Sits there, stares at the wall. Feels completely defeated, utterly spent.

He had tried so fucking hard to resist her pull, to keep himself out. But of course he fucking failed yet again, let the smallest anything pull him back into the life. 

Quinn places the phone on the table, still doesn’t move. Can’t believe what he just did, what just happened. 

He realizes he’s hollow inside, has nothing left where his humanity should have been. Just empty space that he now fills with regrets.

But it’s also just that - she makes him care, makes him experience more than the emptiness. And he’s beyond asking himself why, knows that’s just an exercise in futility. Has given in to the fact that it’s just how it is. 

So he sits, stares, feels. There’s some anxiety there, definitely some regret. Anger at himself, irritation with Carrie. 

Yet in the background there’s always the understanding that he’s doing this because part of him wants to, wants to be there to protect her. 

Quinn hates himself for it but there’s nothing to be done. Carrie Mathison is his fucking kryptonite and yet he still can’t stay away.


	12. 4.4.1

4.4.1

Quinn walks into the airport and stops for a moment, already gripped by the past. Remembers Carrie walking out the doors, wanting to hug her and hate her at the same time. 

And now he’s firmly on the side of hate yet he’s still there at her bidding, keeps telling himself he’s not anxious to see her. 

He tries to shake the thought out of his head but is already pissed off, irritated by the time he gets in a cab. And it doesn’t help that the cab driver gives him a suspicious look as Quinn gets in the taxi. He wonders if it’s just paranoia that makes him think the driver recognized him, then asks to get out of the cab miles away from his actual target location. 

Walking through the busy streets of Islamabad isn’t any better - he feels conspicuous and naked, his emotions completely on edge. But Quinn forces himself along, reminds himself this is the choice he made. Even if she pressured him into it, he was still there against his better judgement. And that was on him. 

So he tries to push through the past, think about the present. He’s here because she needs him, because he can’t let go. And there’s no point to being there if his mind is elsewhere, if he’s full of regret. 

*  
 Quinn walks up to the side op, having gone through every evasive maneuver a few times along the way. Sure that no one’s followed him, he steels himself and knocks on the door. 

“Hey Quinn,” Fara says, opening the door. 

“Hey Fara,” he replies, trying to sound casual. Does not want to reveal how tense he is, that he’s filled to the brim with nervous anticipation.

“You’re early,” she says, sounds a bit nervous herself.

“Tailwinds,” he mutters, relieved to have beaten Carrie there, to have a bit of time to assess the situation before having to face her. 

As if reading his mind, Fara tells him that Carrie’s not there yet then offers him some coffee. Quinn says yes to caffeine by habit, follows Fara deeper into the office and finds a free space to drop his stuff, set up shop.

“So, catch me up,” he says. “Did Carrie identify the guy with the earpiece?” 

“She did,” Fara replies. “She’s with Saul now, laying out the operation.” 

Quinn knows the basics of the plan, wonders if anything’s changed during his time on the plane. 

“So Saul rattles a general’s cage or two and we wait to see who delivers the message to our foot soldier,” he states. 

Fara doesn’t contradict him, tells him the name of the foot soldier - Farhad Ghazi. 

And this is exactly the information he needs to be filled in on. Yet it’s not what he wants to know, not what he’s been thinking about his entire trip over. 

For a moment Quinn debates in his head whether to show his hand, if it’s a fair tradeoff for the information he desires. But even then he knows what the outcome will be, that he has to know. 

“How is she?” he asks, as easily as he can. 

“Carrie?” Fara asks, as if he could be talking about anyone else. 

“Good, amazing actually.” 

Quinn wonders what Fara means, tries to read in between the lines. Looks around the office and notes that everything has been done to perfection, that it all seems ready to go even though Carrie’s been back for only a couple days.

“Well you got this place up and running in record time,” he comments, impressed by the attention to detail, especially considering the time lines. 

“All her,” Fara replies. “Honestly, I don’t know when she finds the time to sleep.” 

Quinn pauses, looks over at her for a moment. Tells himself to settle down, that it’s nothing to be concerned about. Yet at the same time he can feel his guts start to roil and he remembers exactly how it is whenever Carrie’s around in his life. 

He can’t help but care. And he hates himself for it, would burn it out of himself if he knew how. 

Yet there he stands, wondering if she’s alright, if she’s working herself to the edge, if she’s losing herself to the disease again. And all the while he keeps thinking he both should and shouldn’t give a shit, tells himself he’s losing it already and he hasn’t even seen her yet.

Thankfully Max shows up just then to say that the medical student is there and Fara has to slip into her new role, try and hold onto this possible asset. She looks nervous but responds right away, goes out to talk to the boy. 

Quinn steps out of his new office space, watches her hurry into the front of the office to deal with the situation. He notices Max looks more concerned than he should be, wonders what’s up with the quiet techie. 

But Quinn has enough on his mind, doesn’t even bother to say hey to Max. Just walks by, preparing himself for the hurricane that is about to reenter his life. 

*  
Carrie strides into the office, asks brusquely where the boy is. Readies herself for the conversation to come, knows this is her chance to firmly land a huge asset. 

On her way through to Fara’s ‘office’ she glances over and sees Quinn sitting in another room, meets his gaze as he looks over at her. 

And it’s at once comforting and disturbing to have him back, to feel his eyes on her. But thankfully she has Aayan to deal with, can put off the encounter with Quinn until after she’s dealt with the boy. 

So she just gives Quinn a look and a half-smile as she readies herself to make the play, reel the asset in. 

Carrie opens the door, can see that Aayan is taut with nervous energy. He asks right away if she really can get him out of Pakistan, then tells her he needs eighty thousand rupees but can’t tell her why. 

Which is the perfect scenario for her, an easy way to earn his trust. But of course she starts by balking at his request for money, waits to see how desperate he is, what she can use against him. 

The boy is jumpy, tries to leave when she doesn’t give him the money right away. And Carrie knows this is time to play out her hand, take things to the next level. 

So she shows Aayan the picture of Farhad Ghazi, has a hunch that the ISI operative is at least part of the reason the boy is so nervous.

Just as she thought, Carrie gets a reaction right away, sees that Aayan’s listening again. So she keeps up the pressure, tells him that he’s in a lot of trouble, that the Ghazi works for state security. 

The kid immediately looks terrified, starts to break down and sniffle. Which is exactly what she wants, gives her something to work with. 

Carrie puts down her bag, comes up close to the boy. Rubs his back soothingly, puts her arms around him. 

He’s shaking, obviously trying to keep back the tears as she holds him close, pulls him in. Finally he stops crying and she lets go of him, all the while thinking how this is was an ideal set up, the easiest way to lure him in, exploit his weakness, gain his trust. 

She sits him down, tells him that he needs to tell her what’s going on. Asks him if the money is for Ghazi, if he’s being blackmailed. But Aayan just says that the money is for something else, but he can’t say for what. Just that he thinks it will solve the problem.

Which is enough for Carrie, a gift, in fact. Once she gives him the money he will owe her, will feel both an obligation to her as well as a need for what she has to offer. So she leads him into the other office, asks Fara for eighty thousand rupees out of petty cash. 

She makes one last play, tells Aayan she wants to send someone with him, to make sure he’s alright. Like she isn’t going to have someone follow him the moment he’s out the door. 

But he is insistent that he has to do it alone and that starts the gears turning in her head once again, wondering what could be going on, what he’s hiding from her. 

Carrie hands him the money, tells him that he needs to get back to the office as soon as possible if he wants to get out of Pakistan. The boy nods, clearly still extremely tense and scared. But he says okay and she knows he’s hooked, that now he has no one to turn to but her. Which is exactly how it was supposed to play out, tells her she’s still on her game. 

*  
Quinn walks out into the main office area, readies himself for what’s to come. 

He can’t quite define the emotions he’s feeling at the moment, the ones sparked by Carrie’s play, her use of the boy. Watching her reel him in, pull him in close both literally and figuratively, had bothered Quinn more than he thought it would. He tells himself it’s how Carrie operates, that he’s seen it before. But to do it to a naive college student, a boy barely out of his teens. 

Everything about the situation makes Quinn uncomfortable, on edge. Watching Carrie hold the kid in her arms while petting him in fake sympathy already has him feeling morally corrupt, irritated that he came back to see it all happen. 

Then again, if he’s being honest with himself, Quinn knows it’s also exactly why he came back. Because someone needs to be there to watch out for her, to try and keep her in line. He’s just not sure how the duty has fallen to him, or what makes him think he will have any success at all. 

Carrie turns as he opens the door and a flood of emotion runs through him in response to being in close proximity to her yet again. He looks at her and can’t help but question everything about her, ask himself if she has any morality at all, if she’s even worth saving. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, already defensive. 

Because I’m trying to keep my chest from imploding, he thinks to himself. Because I’m not sure how either one of us can keep doing this.

“Fara filled me in on the kid,” he says tersely. 

“And?” Carrie asks, as if she doesn’t know exactly what he means. 

“Getting anybody asylum these days is no easy matter. Much less a place at medical college in London,” he points out. 

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, Quinn,” she fires back, turning away from him. 

“So?” Quinn asks. “You have another play?” 

And all he can do is wonder what the hell she is thinking, promising shit she can’t make good on, playing a kid whose life they’ve already destroyed. He hopes to hell she’s not just going to use the boy and then leave him for dead, to join the rest of his family. But he has no idea what to do about her anymore, is having a hard time just watching it all happen. 

“He’s an iron in the fire,” Carrie replies confidently. “He knows something he’s not saying. Our man with the earpiece paid him a visit last week.” 

Quinn doesn’t even have time to be annoyed that she somehow always has that one thing no one else knows. Quickly he puts that info into his mental map of the situation and realizes that it’s significant, that she’s found an essential connection. 

“He did?” Quinn asks, his attention piqued. 

Of course Carrie comes back with a smug look, a bit of a smirk. 

“Anything else you want to know?” she asks with that certain tone in her voice.

But Quinn’s told himself he isn’t going to start anything with her and this time she’s clearly onto something. So he bites back a snippy remark, reminds himself that this is what it’s always like with her and just turns around, gets his things. 

*

“Getting anybody asylum these days is no easy matter. Much less a place at medical college in London,” Quinn says, his judgement already clear in his tone.

For fuck sakes, Carrie thinks to herself. That’s what she gets for letting naive Fara fill Quinn in on the situation. 

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, Quinn,” she says sarcastically. Remembers back to when he first showed up and annoyed the hell out of her. Thinks that was about a lifetime ago now. Definitely not just two years. 

He had fought her all along really, was always trying to tell her what to do. Which somehow both irritating and comforting at the same time. 

But of course she knows something he doesn’t know, that their ISI guy has been to see this boy, that this kid might be the key to finding out why Sandy was killed.

“So, do you have another play?” he asks. 

And Carrie thinks he should know her better than that by now, that she always has another play. And this time she’s playing him, trying to put him back on her side. 

“He’s an iron in the fire,” she says, totally sure of herself now. “He knows something he’s not saying. Our man with the earpiece paid him a visit last week.”

“He did?” Quinn asks, sounds suddenly interested. 

More importantly, he’s no longer questioning her methods, Carrie thinks to herself. 

“Anything else you want to know?” she asks snidely, almost daring him to snap back at her. 

But Quinn just turns, says he’s getting his stuff. 

And Carrie smiles a bit, knows she’s at least won round one. Waits for him to get his things, then leads them out to the street, into a cab. 

She gives directions to the cab driver, then tries to avoid looking at Quinn, who’s clearly doing some avoiding of his own, staring out his window, his body taut. 

After nine silent minutes and now stuck in Islamabad traffic, she finally turns and looks at him, is almost concerned. 

Quinn’s a bit pale, obviously tense. And Carrie doesn’t know if she should say something, doesn’t usually have the time to be worried about anything but herself, what she needs. 

“Are you alright, Quinn?” she finally asks, says it quickly, with an irritated tone. 

He doesn’t reply but does turn to look at her, wears an unreadable expression. Looks a bit like a trapped animal - cautious, on edge. 

“I don’t know,” he finally mutters as he looks away. 

Carrie watches him for awhile, is thankful he’s there yet slightly uncomfortable with his presence. It’s the way he looks at her, like he’s seeing right through her schemes, judging her right in her core. 

It makes her wonder what he sees there; makes her nervous because she’s not ready to look there herself. 

“Well, thanks for coming. I really needed someone on my side,” she says. 

And again he doesn’t answer, just gives her a look that makes her wonder if he’s really on her side at all.


	13. 4.4.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yup, it's still going. not as much fun to get through the bitter angstyness of 4.4 and 4.5 but it sets up the rest so well... more 'inserted' c&q scenes coming up as we get to 4.6.

4.4.2

The last flicks of evening light are starting to fade when Parvez steps out to do some outdoor surveillance, grab some dinner at the local street vendor. 

And then it’s just the two of them left at the stakeout, sitting across from each other silently as darkness sets in. 

Carrie looks Quinn over, wonders what the fuck he might be thinking. He’s been quiet but effective since he arrived, even managed to slip in and clone Ghazi’s phone so they could eavesdrop on the ISI operative. But she can tell that something’s not right, that a piece of him is still missing. 

She knows she’s going to have to start it if anything is to give between them. And from what she saw of his exit interview, it wasn’t going to be easy to get anything from him. 

But she didn’t ask him to come back so they could be at a standoff the entire time, pushing each other in that way that they do. And really she is glad that he is there, just can’t seem to find a moment to express it in between the times she’s pissed off at him. 

Quinn’s watching the screen, looks tense as usual even though nothing is happening in Ghazi’s apartment. 

“You okay, Quinn?” Carrie finally asks even though she’s fairly certain he has nothing to say to her. 

Quinn doesn’t answer for a long time and Carrie fights the impulse to get pissed off at him, say something nasty. 

Finally he turns to look at her, his gaze intense as usual. 

“Probably not,” he admits in a low mutter. 

She’s surprised he even gave her that much of the truth, thinks she needs to tread cautiously if she wants anything else from him. 

“It was all really fucked up,” she says in acknowledgement. 

Quinn nods. 

“Yeah,” he says tiredly. “This is all really fucked up.” 

Carrie looks at him again, wonders exactly what he means. If he’s just talking about this ISI plot to kill Sandy, their involvement in it. Or if he’s still looking at the big picture, regretting his role in it all. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, unsure of what else to do. 

Quinn shakes his head. 

“This isn’t about you,” he says tersely. 

And the thing is she’s not sure that’s true. But it certainly isn’t something she’s going to push him on at this point. 

“So tell me about you,” she says. “What happened?” 

He shakes his head again, looks away. 

“I was fucked up,” he admits. 

“Yeah you were, Quinn,” Carrie replies. “I was worried about you.” 

“Bullshit,” Quinn mutters. 

Carrie bristles, remembers how it always becomes a battle with him. 

“I was,” she retorts. “You were in rough shape, Quinn.” 

He nods at that, doesn’t argue. 

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” he admits after awhile. 

“What were you going to do?” she asks, knowing she’s pushing into dangerous terrain, wonders if he will tell her the truth. 

“Get out,” Quinn says seriously, looking at her in the eye. 

And again she’s surprised, didn’t think he would actually talk about this side of things with her. 

“For real?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

Quinn nods, is still giving her a dark look. 

“Yeah. Was at the last fucking step,” he says. 

Even though she’s seen it, it’s hard to hear it from Quinn, to see him admit it. She’s seen these moments of weakness before in him, his tendency to run. But she wants to believe that he’s like her - in it til the end. 

“Really?” she asks. “You were on your exit interview?” 

Her gut clenches as she questions him, knows she shouldn’t be pushing into this, especially having seen what she’s seen.

“Yeah,” he says grimly. Doesn’t elaborate.

Carrie shivers internally, imagines he’s thinking about flipping out a the interviewer, the question that set him off. 

And she finally sees it now, why people think he has a thing for her. Not that she thinks it’s true - what they don’t see is how she pulls him in, gets her way. Even now, he’s here in Islamabad, the last place he wants to be. Because she asked. 

“You did the psych eval too?” she says, just to break the silence. 

Quinn nods. 

“Just have my very last polygraph and then I’m out,” he says.

“Jesus, Quinn,” she says, finally really realizing he might have actually meant it, done it. If not for her, of course. 

“Well, I guess I’m even more grateful that you’re here now,” she adds, trying to offer some sort of appreciation, apology. 

“Anything for you Carrie,” he mutters, turns away from her. 

She pretends she doesn’t hear the resentment in his statement, is just glad that the words still seem to be true. He really has done everything she’s asked of him. Well, except for one thing of course. And now’s not exactly the time to ask, but then again if she doesn’t ask now she might never know. 

“Is that the real reason you didn’t come with me to Kabul?” she asks. “You already had one foot out the door?”

Quinn shakes his head but doesn’t even pause, just gives it to her straight up. 

“Mostly I just didn’t want to live in a bunker and kill people by remote control,” he says, matter-of-factly. Gives her a significant look at the end of his statement. 

Carrie’s taken aback for a moment, surprised at the bitterness behind his words. It’s not often someone says something that strikes home with her. But maybe that’s because she isn’t usually listening. 

“That’s harsh,” she finally replies, wonders if that’s really what he thinks of her. 

But of course Quinn puts it back on himself, has always been more introspective than anyone else she’s met in his field. 

“Ever since that kid in Caracas, covert operations have been over for me,” he admits. “I thought they were anyway.” 

It’s absurd how he’s still holding onto that mistake, his only real fuck up. Carrie thinks about how many times she’s fucked things up, wonders how many lives have been lost. But it’s all in the name of the greater good, she tells herself, the lives that are saved.

“You have to let yourself off the hook for that one, Quinn,” she says seriously, leans in. 

But he doesn’t seem to hear her, just continues talking in that low, regretful voice. 

“At least I know his name,” he adds. “Carlos Sedena. I don’t even remember half the others.” 

She wonders what the hell is wrong with him, why he can’t see the other side of things, the necessity of their jobs. If that job in Caracas had failed they would never have gotten Javadi, would still be nowhere on a disarmament deal with Iran. If the Haqqanis of the world were allowed to live there would be no end to terrorism.

“You took the fight to the enemy and saved lives in the process,” she states firmly.

“Or just made more enemies,” Quinn replies. “Either way I was pretty far down the fucking rabbit hole.”

“Come on, Quinn,” she says, wants to get him off this self-reflection kick, relieve him of moral burdens.  
 “I’m serious,” he interrupts, looking at her intensely. “It’s like a drug you know. Going from one mission to the next like that.”

Carrie thinks she can’t take this from him any longer, does not want to look where he’s pointing her. 

“You want to believe you were such a bad guy, go ahead,” she says irritably. 

“I was a bad guy,” Quinn replies predictably. 

She doesn’t know why it bothers her so much, his tendency to judge himself poorly. Maybe because she doesn’t see the bad in him, can only think of him as a guy who’s always doing his best. And that was more than she could say for almost anyone else she knows. 

“Stop it,” she snaps. “Why are you doing this?”

“Maybe because you need to hear it,” he says in that way of his. 

And of course that’s exactly what she doesn’t want to hear at the moment, does not need Quinn giving her commentary on her life choices. She did what she had to do and still isn’t at all ready to look back on everything that’s happened. Especially not with Quinn there, right under his judging eye. 

So predictably she gets mad, pushes back against his irritating attitude. 

“What i need, Quinn. is your help, not your goddamned foot on the brake,” she says sharply.

Of course Parvez chooses that moment to return, walks in oblivious to the tension. 

“So, who’s going do watch and who’s going back to the embassy?” he asks.

Carrie looks at Quinn, but he makes no indication either way, just returns her irritated look with a stoney stare. They stay like that for a long moment, the uncomfortable silence growing between them. 

“Quinn?” she finally asks.

“You go, I’ll stay,” he replies, acting like his usual considerate self. 

Which just annoys her even more, makes her feel like she was in the wrong somehow. 

“You sure?” she asks. 

Quinn nods, gives her a fake smile. And she doesn’t want to leave it at that but isn’t about to have it out with him in front of Parvez either. 

“Alright, goodnight then,” she says, standing up to leave. 

“Goodnight,” Quinn replies, a bit too civilly. 

She leaves him there in the dark, follows Parvez to the embassy car. Tries to get Quinn out of her mind but can’t shake the tenseness, her annoyance with him. 

Stares out the car window, tries to calm her thoughts. Tells herself that he’s wrong about himself, about her. 

Still there’s something sitting in her gut, something she can’t deal with yet. And yet again Carrie wonders why she brought him here if all he’s going to do is question her. 

The thing is she knows she needs him, just wishes things would be easier. But nothing’s ever easy between them and Carrie’s almost come to understand that his ability to push her, challenge her is part of what she values in him. 

Not that it makes her any less annoyed with him but it reminds her that he’s here because she asked, that there’s no one else she would want in his place. 

******

“I’m serious,” Quinn says, trying to get her to understand with a sheer force of will. “It’s like a drug you know. Going from one mission to the next like that.”

He remembers briefly what it was like - to firmly believe in his actions, that he was only killing the bad guys. Before he realized he was a bad guy himself, that nothing good could come out of what he was doing. 

But of course Carrie blows it off, doesn’t hear any of what he’s saying.

“You want to believe you were such a bad guy, go ahead,” she says, clearly annoyed. 

“I was a bad guy,” Quinn replies.

I am a bad guy, he thinks. We are bad people. We kill and kill and kill, say we’re on the side of good. But we’re just lying to ourselves. There is no such thing as righteous killing. 

But course Carrie can’t see this, can’t open her eyes to what she’s become. And he knows how that is too, to be so caught up in it that you can’t see anything else. To believe so strongly because doubting is too hard on the soul. 

“Stop it,” she says sharply. “Why are you doing this?”

“Maybe because you need to hear it,” he says. 

Quinn knows it’s the wrong thing to say, that she isn’t capable of hearing anything at the moment. She’s had blinders on ever since Iran, since Brody died. And, beyond that, telling Carrie she needs to hear something was probably the best way to piss her off. 

But then he remembers back to the afternoon, seeing her with the boy. Watching her seduce him, lie to him, use him. All after killing his entire family, already ruining his life. And he knows he needs to say the words, somehow make her hear them. Because he can’t let her stay like this, remain this person he can’t stand.

Thinking about it, being face to face with her coldness - it’s almost unbearable. Yet he also knows she’s hurting, that she’s suffering. It’s really the only thing that keeps him there - remembering that there is a human under the mask she wears. One he cares about more than he should. 

Predictably, Carrie gets mad, doesn’t hear anything he’s saying at all. 

“What I need, Quinn. is your help, not your goddamned foot on the brake,” she snaps at him.

Quinn looks at her, thinks how she’s right but just doesn’t know it yet. That she does need help, but not the kind she thinks. 

And it’s almost impossible not to be pissed off at her right now, with her accusations, the way she refuses to listen. But he fights down the anger, reminds himself that he made the choice to come back, that someone has to be the stable one in the relationship. 

Thankfully Parvez comes in right at that moment, breaks the tenseness in the air between them by asking who’s staying and who’s going back to the embassy.

Carrie’s looking at him with a hard expression but he has nothing to say to her, is again having a tough time believing that he came back for this shit. Just another fucking regret, he thinks to himself. 

He wants to tell her to go, to just leave him alone but knows it will come out wrong, doesn’t want to piss her off even more. So he doesn’t say anything, just looks at her through a long terse silence as he waits for her to make a move.

“Quinn?” she finally asks irritably.

“You go, I’ll stay,” he replies, thinking he’s glad to be left at the stakeout, that he shouldn’t be around anyone right now, especially not her. 

Of course Carrie doesn’t appreciate his offer, still looks annoyed and glares at him before asking if he’s sure.

Quinn nods, gives her a fake smile. Just wants her to go, wants to be alone.

“Alright, goodnight then,” she says, standing up to go. 

“Goodnight,” Quinn replies, stomping down on his emotions to reply as civilly as he can. 

And then she’s gone, leaving him alone in the dark. Quinn looks at the screens, tries to think about the operation, about the ISI operative he’s supposed to be watching. 

But, as usual, he can’t get Carrie out of his mind. Hears her over and over, spouting the same fucking lies. That they are taking the fight to the enemy. That there’s a point to all this bullshit. 

The hardest part is that he can finally see how bad it is, how bad she is. He can even understand it to an extent - knows exactly how fucked up she was after Iran, after she watched Brody die. 

He had seen it happen, seen her shut down, fall into a deep hole. It had been brutal to watch. Especially as he came to understand there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how much he tried. 

When she chose Kabul, ran away from her kid, it was the last straw. A harsh reality check, a reminder that she didn’t give a fuck about anyone except herself. That nothing he could ever say or do would affect her in any way. 

Quinn shakes his head, takes a deep breath. Tells himself to calm down, that there’s no point being upset at her, that he knew this was what he was in for. Reminds himself that the Carrie he cares about, the woman once admired is still in there somewhere. 

And it’s really fucking hard because he actually hates her at the moment. Everything about her presence grates on him, makes him feel raw and volatile, exposed. It’s not something he’s felt for a long time, maybe ever. And every self-protective instinct he has tells him to keep away, that this is all a terrible fucking idea. 

Yet there he is, in Islamabad, against his better judgement, only days after he lost his fucking mind. Part of him wants a fucking drink or ten, to fall back into the destruction that he had been cultivating, find the numbness at the bottom of a bottle. 

The worst part is he can’t blame anyone but himself for making the choice, for giving her what she wanted. And so all he can do is sit there in the dark, hating himself for not having the strength to resist his self-destructive attraction to her. 

Even now, he should be glad she’s gone back to the embassy, that he doesn’t have to be around her any longer. Because it hurts to interact with her, to see her so fucking shut down. 

But no matter how he tries, Quinn just keeps thinking about her after she’s long gone, somehow both glad she’s not there and disappointed she had to go.


	14. 4.4.3

4.4.3

Carrie’s back at the embassy, holed up in her spartan apartment, trying to get his voice out of her head so she can get some fucking sleep. 

“Just have my very last polygraph and then I’m out.” 

“Mostly I just didn’t want to live in a bunker and kill people by remote control.”

She tells herself she doesn’t care, that it’s Quinn’s fucking problem if he can’t deal with his own shit. But it’s becoming harder to believe with each passing moment, as she keeps running through their conversation, hearing the darkness in his tone. 

And the thing is she knows she can’t fix it, that whatever is wrong between them is not something that she is able to deal with. Because every time they talk she ends up feeling defensive, knows he is judging her. And the unfortunate truth is that she still actually cares about his opinion of her, that she values him for much more than his unique skill set.   
But telling him this - getting him to understand that she really does appreciate what he’s doing for her no matter how pissed off he makes her - seems to be impossible. And that’s what’s keeping her up, an uncomfortable mix of regret and indignation, the desire to fix things that are probably only broken because she fucked things up yet again. 

An image floats through her mind - Quinn stateside, so drunk he’s incapacitated. And she can’t quite believe that was only a few days ago, that he’s now in Islamabad, facing something that’s already pushed him to the brink. All of it for her. 

She tells herself to remember what it’s like when your whole world is in pieces, when the pain in your head tints everything in darkness. When everything you’ve believed turns out to be a lie. 

It’s only then that Carrie feels her emotional shield drop for a moment, remembers how it feels to empathize with someone, to actually care about what he’s been through. 

She thinks how hard it is to be torn in two directions, what it must have taken for him to agree to come back. She knows she wore away at him, that she used his kindness against him. And she knows he shouldn’t be there, not the way he’s feeling. 

So maybe she just has to learn to suffer through his well-meaning bullshit, try and remember that he’s only there because she told him she needed him. 

And again she hears his voice in her head, remembers what he said to her just before Parvez showed up and ended their conversation.

“Maybe because you need to hear it.” 

It still stings, makes her shoulders creep towards her ears. Her first reaction is still to ask herself who the fuck is he to tell her what she needs. Because she’s still as sure as ever on what she actually needs - to find out why Sandy was murdered, what the ISI has in store for them. The drive to know, to solve the problem, to be at the front line regardless of the cost - that is who she is. 

And yet this answer gives her no calm, doesn’t let her sleep. 

Because she knows he’s at the safe house brooding, most likely pissed off at her yet again. And she doesn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but it hurts to see him like that, makes her actually want to fix things, maybe even admit her own faults. 

*

Carrie walks into the stakeout location, on edge from lack of sleep and the promise of action. The plan had fully been kicked into motion and they should be seeing action from the ISI guy Ghazi soon. Yet that other thing is still weighing on her mind and she knows she’s going to have to make the effort, can’t have it hanging over her or she won’t ever fucking sleep. 

“Where’s our guy?” she asks, noticing that Quinn deliberately walks to the window and looks out, away from her as she walks in the room. 

“Went out for breakfast,” Parvez answers. “He’s back now, he’s on the internet.”

“Well, I just got off the phone with Saul,” Carrie reports. “Consider the pot stirred. If anything is going to happen it’s going to happen today. And soon.” 

That at least gets Quinn’s attention, makes him turn and look at her. 

And she tells herself that this is the moment to face up to her fears, admit her need. Forces herself to say it even as a ball of anxiety pushes into her throat, threatens to sabotage her intentions. 

“Hey Quinn, can I talk to you for a second?” she asks, mentally telling herself that she can do this, can at least make the attempt. 

Quinn doesn’t answer, just keeps giving her a steely look that offers no encouragement. But he does approach her, follows as she leads him into the other room. 

“About last night,” she starts, speaking quietly so Parvez can’t hear. 

“Forget it,” he mutters, obviously trying to deflect, avoid the conversation.

It would be so easy to just let it go, let it drop and pretend that everything’s fine between them. But she’s pushed herself this far already, knows she will be extremely pissed off at herself if she doesn’t follow through. 

“No, you didn’t want to come back here, I get that now,” she says, trying to be as honest as she can.

Quinn doesn’t respond, doesn’t quite make eye contact either. And she thinks how this is exactly how it always goes, that she never can say the right thing in these types of situations. But she also knows she has to get it out this time, that there won’t be another chance at this. So she forces herself to continue, hopes he hears the authenticity in her voice. 

“So thanks for coming in spite of that,” she finishes. “It means a lot.” 

Quinn still doesn’t say anything and she starts to feel on the spot, unsure if her apology got through to him at all. 

“Not to mention we’d be nowhere on this if it wasn’t for you,” she adds, really trying to play nice, make amends. 

“We may still be nowhere,” he finally says, his voice gravelly and low. 

She feels the hardness in him, knows she’s firmly up against his own emotional wall. And she knows he’s still pissed off at her, that he’s holding onto all his anger, self-recrimination. 

Which just makes her anxious again, unsure of where she stands with him. Because it doesn’t sound like he’s willing to take her apology even though she’s doing her best to actually be honest with him, tell him what he means to her. 

“You know what I mean,” she says, trying to will him into understanding, forgiveness. 

But of course Quinn doesn’t reply, doesn’t change his expression at all. And the dark way he’s looking at her just makes her feel nervous again, unsure of where things stand. 

“So we good?” she finally asks, already knowing she isn’t going to get the truth from him, understanding that this problem between them isn’t going to have a quick fix.

Quinn nods but doesn’t change his steely eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re good,” he replies unconvincingly, then turns and walks away. 

Carrie stares at his back as he creates distance between them, thinks to herself that things don’t actually seem good at all. Not that she’s surprised he deflected her attempt at apologizing, knows that nothing is that easy in her world. But she had been hoping for a return to the past, where Quinn actually gave a shit about what she thought, back when he didn’t obviously hate her guts. 

Yet now it’s clear to her that he’s only there to assuage some personal guilt, that he doesn’t want to fix whatever is broken between them. And it hurts her more than she thought possible, touches something in her that she thought was fully closed off. Leaves her standing there, as alone as she’s ever felt. 

******

Quinn’s lying down, head and gut still roiling from his earlier conversation with Carrie. He replays it in his mind over and over, reminds himself to stay strong each time, that she’s just saying words she doesn’t mean.

The shittiest part is that he wants to believe her, wants things to be good between them again. But he knows it’s impossible, that she doesn’t give a shit about anyone, anything other than herself and the mission. And he’s done with being played by her, tells himself not to fall for it when she acts at being human, pretends to have a heart.   
Yet he still finds himself at the tipping point of love and hate, can’t quite convince himself that he should just give up. Feels the slow burn of his mixed emotions as he lies there pretending not to watch her.

Is lost in his seemingly endless conundrum when she calls his name, snaps him to attention. 

“Quinn,” she snaps. “Target’s getting a call.” 

He grabs his gun, gets up to take a look. 

“Khadir,” he says, letting the tech guy know that the action is starting. 

Quinn leans in next to Carrie, watches as their target answers his phone, then hangs up after a short conversation. 

“Quinn, what did he say?” Carrie asks.

“His laundry’s ready for pickup,” he replies, eyes still on the screen. 

Immediately Ghazi starts taking apart his cell phone and Quinn quickly realizes the call was an exit code, that their target is about to run. Of course Carrie gets it too, snaps to action right away. 

“He’s killing his comms,” she says. “That was an exit code. Who is the caller?” 

Quinn looks at the computer, is only mildly surprised to see that the trace function isn’t working. 

“We’re not getting it,” he says. 

“Quinn!” Carrie exclaims, as if it’s his fault. Reminds him exactly how irritating it is to work with her and her unreasonable demands. 

“Nothing, no trace,” he replies sharply. 

“What? How is that even possible?” Carrie asks, clearly starting to get worked up. 

“He’s running,” Parvez adds, making them turn their attention back to the screen. 

Ghazi is clearly on the move and Carrie starts swearing, gets up from the table and paces a couple steps. 

Quinn is mentally swearing as well, knows that they are about to lose their only lead. They pushed this guy into action and now it’s all happening too fast - they have no way to safely and securely detain the ISI operative.

He’s trying to come up with alternatives, a way to follow Ghazi without letting him know he’s being watched when Carrie loses all sense, goes off on one of her insane tangents. 

“We have to take him,” she says seriously. 

If it wasn’t Carrie, he would have just considered it a bad joke. They don’t have the manpower to take Ghazi now that he’s in flight mode, on the lookout for an attack. 

“What?” he asks, momentarily stunned. 

“We take him now,” she replies, as if it isn’t basically a suicide mission.   “Are you fucking kidding me?” he fires back, hoping beyond hope that she hasn’t completely lost it, still has some sense left in her. 

But of course Carrie looks at him like he’s the crazy one, doesn’t deter from her course at all. 

“We don’t have a choice. He walks out that door, out walks our only chance to connect the ISI to Sandy’s murder,” she states firmly, as if that’s the only point to consider. 

Instantly Quinn remembers how it can get with her when she’s determined, how all sense and logic are deflected by her focus. He pictures her walking out of the van into the motel parking lot, remembers the terror in his gut as he pulled the trigger. 

“It’s way too dangerous,” he argues even though he knows she won’t listen. 

“What, he’s one guy. There’s four of us,” she says, as if he’s a spineless idiot. 

“He’s a trained hood that knows he just got made,” Quinn replies testily. 

He tries to focus on the present, wills himself to stop imagining Carrie storming out after Ghazi, getting caught in the crossfire as the ISI operative shoots his way out of his situation. He knows he’s being overly sensitive, that if it wasn’t Carrie demanding the action he would think about it differently. But he didn’t come back to let her die doing something stupid, no matter how pissed off she gets. 

“We can do it,” she continues, as if his objections mean nothing, hold no sway. 

“Not without somebody getting hurt,” he replies, giving her a dark, serious look. 

Carrie glares at him for a split second and Quinn knows everything’s about to go to shit. She has that look in her eye, the body language that says she’s not going to stop without a fight. 

“Alright fine, we’ll do it without you,” she says, grabbing her bag. “Parvez, Khadir, come on.” 

At that moment Quinn thinks it’s possible she was put on the planet solely to infuriate him, make him insane. Because he can’t let her do this, put her life on the line. Even if he has to physically restrain her, fucking handcuff her to the wall. He will not stand by and watch as she does something stupid, gets hurt or killed doing it. 

Carrie storms by him and he reacts automatically, grabs her arm hard, spins her around. 

“No,” he states firmly. 

“Get your hands off me!” she shouts at him, her eyes fully ablaze. 

“For all you know he’s got back up on the way!” he yells right back. 

“Back up?” she fires back. “Did you hear one word about back up on that call?”

He stares at her, unsure how any human can make him react so strongly. And he thinks no, there was no word about back up. But there is no fucking way he is going to let her take the risk, knows that losing Ghazi to the wind is a price he’s more than willing to pay to ensure Carrie’s continued safety. 

Quinn’s heart is hammering in his ears as he stares at her, his personal cross to bear. He barely hears Parvez say that Fara’s on the line, can only focus on the fire in Carrie’s eyes, wonder if he’s going to have to physically prevent her from leaving. 

Carrie tries to put off the call but Parvez tells her it’s urgent and Quinn can see rational thought pushing into her mind again, distracting her just slightly from her single-minded determination to do something stupid. 

Finally she looks away from him, puts on the headset and immediately tells Fara that she can’t talk. 

But whatever Fara says must really be urgent because Carrie’s body language shifts immediately and Quinn can tell she’s already changed course, that her anger has turned into something else. 

“But that’s impossible,” Carrie says, sounding extremely confused. “He was killed in the airstrike.”

Quinn wonders what she could possibly be talking about but is more immediately relieved that she no longer seems interested in trying to single-handedly capture an armed ISI hood.

“He was with Aayan?” Carrie asks, still sounding completely lost as she turns, gives him a funny look. 

Quinn realizes he’s less tense too, that he’s no longer about to leap down Carrie’s throat now that she’s not determined to get them all killed. He watches as she goes to her computer, clicks on a video, freezes it on a frame. 

“Is that Haqqani?” he asks in total confusion. 

“Yeah,” she replies, just louder than a whisper. 

And now, as usual, he’s already completely let go of his frustration, his anger at her. Is so stunned at what the video is showing that he can’t quite wrap his head around what it could mean. 

“But we killed him,” he says dumbly. “The Taliban said we killed him.” 

Carrie doesn’t reply to him, finishes up on the phone with Fara instead, tells her that she did a good job. Only then does she turn around, a look of wonder on her face. 

“What the fuck, Carrie?” he asks, their previous animosity completely put aside again. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” she demands. 

Quinn makes himself think, pushes past the initial shock of everything being thrown up in the air, all their supposed facts being tossed out the window. Realizes that this could be the piece that made it all fit, that killing Sandy was just a small part of a much larger plot. 

“That Sandy’s death actually makes sense for the first time,” he says. 

Of course Carrie catches on immediately as well, sorts it out in her head faster than he can think. 

“He was killed in order to protect Haqqani,” she states. “Who either survived the air strike or wasn’t there in the first place.” 

“He wasn’t there,” Quinn mutters, still trying to wrap his head around it all. 

“They played us from the very beginning,” Carrie replies, thinking out loud. 

“But why do any of it?” he asks. 

“Because that’s when we stop tracking terrorists. When we think they’re dead.” she says sensibly.

And it does make sense, in a fucked up kind of way. All except one thing.

“I get why the Taliban wants us to think that but why the ISI?” Quinn asks. 

For once Carrie has no answer, just looks at him and nods. 

“That’s a great fucking question,” she says seriously. 

Quinn takes a breath, tries to consolidate everything that’s happened in the past five minutes. Looks at Carrie, remembers how mad he was at her just moments ago, thinks how relieved he is to be standing with her now, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

She keeps looking at him for another minute then grabs her bag, stands up. 

“I need to get to the office,” she says, already on the move. 

By reflex he grabs her again, isn’t aware of any conscious thought that makes him grasp her arm as she walks away. And of course Carrie reacts just the same, gives him a pissed off look as she tries to shake loose. 

This time, however, Quinn has no idea what to say, doesn’t have a rational explanation for having stopped her. He just knows he wants to feel her proximity, that there’s things he needs to say before he lets her go. 

“What the fuck, Quinn?” she snaps. 

Yeah, what the fuck, he thinks to himself. Knows he has nothing to say that she will give a shit about, yet can’t resist the urge. 

“Please be careful, Carrie,” he finally says, unable to come up with anything that sounds less idiotic. 

And he knows she’s just going to be more annoyed with him, that telling Carrie what to do can only lead to disaster. But it’s like a fucking tic, it just comes out of him and there’s no controlling it. 

To his surprise, Carrie doesn’t pull her arm away immediately, actually stops to look at him appraisingly instead of just walking away, flipping him off. 

She seems irritated but not angry, gives him an impatient look.

“Thanks. For trying,” she finally says grudgingly. 

With that she walks off and he lets her go, yet again completely surprised.


	15. 4.5.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapter day. cause I want to get to the interesting stuff in 5.6 and on before the new season...

4.5.1

They’ve set up the stakeout, Quinn manning the camera as they watch the building across the street for any sign of the cleric, possibly Haqqani himself. He’s thinking about their conversation from earlier, wondering why Fara was there at all. 

Just another one of Carrie’s victims, he concludes. She really does have a way with people. 

Quinn’s not worried that Fara hasn’t got it. He meant it when he told her she was good at the job. She has the instincts of an intelligence agent but he’s not sure she has the right emotional set. He knows she will have to harden up as she learns the game, wonders if she’ll become just another Carrie, doing whatever it takes. 

Whatever it takes, he repeats in his mind. 

He’s been trying to keep the thought out of his head but it’s hopeless. Fara took the boy to Carrie at the safe house the previous night and they haven’t heard from her since. In most circumstances he wouldn’t read anything into the situation yet. But this is Carrie and he knows her MO, has seen it in action.

Of course he’s got this on his mind when Fara tries to make some small talk, asks him how long he’s known Carrie. 

Quinn doesn’t have to think about it, had recently been wondering how it’s only been about two years. He barely remembers life without her in it, only recalls that it was less complicated, much less emotionally taxing. 

But then again he knows he wasn’t really alive those previous years either. Just a human killing machine, living on bare essentials. 

He can’t say what’s worse, just knows he somehow deserves this all. 

“Two years, more or less,” he mutters.

“Really?” Fara asks. “I would have thought you guys go way back.” 

Well, at least he’s not the only one that feels that way, Quinn thinks to himself. He thinks it’s because he’s used up his entire life’s quota of emotional responses in the span of those two years. Of course he would choose to expend his efforts on the most infuriating individual he’s ever met. 

“Yeah, it feels that way sometimes,” he says, a bit frozen inside. 

“She’s just one of those people,” Fara continues, seemingly unaware that he’s tense around this topic.”You connect.” 

It’s not something he wants to talk about, this thing between him and Carrie. It’s not even something he wants to acknowledge. Especially not how he’s feeling, ready to implode. 

“Yeah,” Quinn finally mutters, hopes that Fara will change the topic of conversation. 

“So does that make you a professional liar too?” Fara asks. 

He’s relieved the topic is shifting but isn’t quite sure what to say, what Fara is getting at.   “She told me I have to become one,” she explains. “To be good at this job.” 

And he can’t keep it in any longer, has to give her some warning, some understanding of what she’s gotten herself into. 

“Well, you’re learning from the best,” he says, letting a little snap come through in his voice. 

“Why do you say it like that?” Fara asks, still all innocence. 

“Manipulating people, exploiting their weakness,” Quinn continues. “It can get ugly sometimes.” 

Again he flashes to a thought of the safe house, of Carrie ‘recruiting’ her new young asset. And it shouldn’t bother him this much, of all people he has no high moral ground to stand on. 

But still Quinn likes to think he has his standards, that there are modes of behaviour that are unacceptable, regardless of the situation. That seducing a boy with sex and lies is beyond reprehensible, that she’s really gone too far this time. No matter what he knows, where he might lead them. 

The worst part is he knows how effective it will be, that Carrie is a fucking machine when it comes to playing an asset, getting every last drop of information. She will use the boy and it won’t end well, that much he already knows. 

“Is that the plan with Aayan?” Fara asks, interrupting and echoing his black thoughts. 

“What?” he asks, stalling for time. 

“Lie, manipulate, exploit,” she finishes. 

She’s finally catching on, Quinn thinks grimly. 

“Using the enemy’s own weight to bring him down,” he mutters, unsure who the enemy even is anymore. “That is the job.” 

Fara suddenly snaps to attention, having seen something out the window. 

“Second floor, that’s him,” she says. 

Quinn snaps a few photos, makes sure they have the cleric from every angle. 

“Sure?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Fara replies, a bit shakily. “He was with Aayan and Haqqani.” 

Quinn’s mood lightens a bit with the sighting of the cleric, gets his mind off Carrie, her current whereabouts. He compliments Fara on spotting the target, does actually think she is good at the job. But she will have to build a better shell, he thinks. Get used to the idea of using people, taking advantage of anyone and everyone. 

He makes a quip about not having to shoot anyone, a bit of a tease towards Fara to loosen her up. She doesn’t need to know how the sight of the weapon makes him feel hollow inside, a shell of a man. All his past sins keep crawling back, remind him that he’s weak, that he’ll never get out. 

Quinn’s relieved Fara’s too scared of him to ask about his own agitated state. Or maybe she just thinks this is what he’s always like. It was one good thing about being deadly - people tended to leave you alone. 

They settle back into their seats, their previous conversation forgotten. Fara still looks tense, unsure of her role in the operation. 

It makes him realize that he’s in the same position, wondering what the hell he is doing there. He came back because Carrie asked, because he’s always been weak in that way. But now he’s there and where the hell is Carrie? 

Closeted away, seducing a boy. To be involved in this op, to be working for Carrie as she destroys lives, endangers everyone. Just thinking about it gives Quinn a crawling feeling all over his skin, makes his head explode. 

But he can’t discuss it with Fara, will just have to wait until Carrie emerges from her hideout. The thing is, he knows he will lose it when he sees her, that it’s not going to end well. 

And until then all he can do is sit and watch, try to not think about what’s going on inside a safe house across town.

*

The boy has been quiet, resentful, since their ‘interview’ earlier. To be expected, somewhat. But now Carrie knows she needs to bring him back to her, manufacture some trust. 

“So how long does the silent treatment go on?” she asks as they awkwardly do the dishes together. 

Aayan doesn’t look her in the eye, tells her he’s just tired. 

“Not angry?” she asks, knows she just needs to get him talking. “Cause I can do that to people sometimes. Make them angry.” 

And it’s just a ploy but it makes her suddenly think about all her relationships, how anger plays a large part in all of them. She even knows she uses it to hide everything else, avoid the tough topics. Because it’s easy to be pissed off, hard to care. 

But the boy doesn’t seem mad, just upset as he looks down at the dishes. 

“It’s, just.. it’s hard to talk about some things,” he finally says. 

For a kid he’s thoughtful, well spoken. She’s come to like him, respect him in a way. He’s young, and in a tough position. But he’s handling it well, doing the best he can. 

“Yeah,” she replies, tries to look empathetic. 

He walks away then, and she knows it’s time to make her play, reel him in. 

“Hey Aayan,” she says, approaching him slowly. “I want to be totally honest with you.” 

“Okay?” he replies, a bit nervously. 

“Just so there won’t be any surprises when we get to London,” Carrie adds, dropping the line to both remind him of his goal, of why he is doing this. And to hint at a future between them, something more. 

“Okay, what is it?” Aayan asks.

“I have a baby,” she says.

Aayan nods, tells her he knew. 

Which of course he should, it was why she chose that as her ‘truth’ to tell. Something personal yet unrevealing. 

“Ah, right. I forgot, doctor,” she replies, as if she was just a journalist, hadn’t already thought through every aspect of his life.

“Boy or girl?” he asks. 

“Girl,” she replies with a pretend smile. “Frances, after my dad.”

Carrie vaguely knows it’s wrong to have to fake a smile when thinking about her baby, but right now Frannie is just another distant object, thankfully out of the picture. It’s like she’s dissociated from the fact that she has a kid, managed to completely put it out of mind.

“What about her father, is he still in London?” Aayan asks. 

And even though she had anticipated the question, it’s still a kick to the gut. Carrie pauses, tries to push the rising emotion back into its place. 

“He died,” she finally says. “Before she was born.”

“What happened to him?” the boy asks. 

And again it’s almost too much, makes her think about things she’s been desperately trying to avoid. 

“Um...” she stammers. “He was killed. In the line of duty.” 

“Military?” Aayan asks. 

“No, he was a journalist too,” she says. “On an assignment that was.... too dangerous.” 

The sadness, the guilt. It all escapes for just a moment, washes over her. Carrie’s surprised at how quickly it rises, the power it crashes through with. Though she knows she never really dealt with it, she had almost forgotten it was still there after numbing it out for so long.

Carrie wants to stop talking about it but knows this is what she’s been trying for, an opening. And the boy doesn’t stop asking questions, wants to know where Frannie’s father went. So she has to push on, let herself be real. 

She wonders what she can even say, is having a hard time containing the sudden turmoil inside of her. 

“It was my fault,” she finally says. “I sent him.” 

Carrie realizes suddenly it’s the first time she’s said the words, actually admitted her guilt in sending Brody to Iran. It had been buried deep under everything that froze up in her, put there for a reason. Because she’s not at all ready to look at it yet, feels anxiety and immense sadness even just touching on the edges of those thoughts. 

“Anyway,” she continues, trying to put her emotions away. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“No, I don’t mind,” Aayan says, and she thinks again that he’s a nice kid, that it’s too bad he’s so mired in everything that’s happened. 

“Usually I keep it to myself,” Carrie says, sinking the hook deeper into her catch. She knows the offer of a secret will push Aayan to respond in kind. Especially with the insinuation that she’s opened up because she cares about him, wants him to know her. 

She thinks the conversation will be over then, but Aayan pushes on, keeps asking thoughtful questions. 

“What about her?” he asks. “Will you tell her? When she’s older?” 

Her wound hasn’t been this open for a long time and is now suddenly gaping as she contends with having revealed too much of herself. Carrie reminds herself it’s for a reason, that she’s playing a game. But it’s still excruciating, makes her want to shove it all back behind her emotional wall. 

“How can I?” she asks back. “How can I tell her I’m the reason her dad is gone?” 

“How can you not?” Aayan answers. 

The thing is she knows he’s right. This boy whose life she’s already ruined, this boy who she’s using in every way. But she doesn’t want to think about it, is still pretending to herself that none of it happened, that there will be some way of erasing it all from her life. 

“Well, thanks for telling me,” he continues when she doesn’t say anything. “I’m really sorry about your husband.” 

And that was a dart she hadn’t anticipated. It goes right into her heart, and Carrie has to look away, reminded suddenly of those fleeting moments of hope. Once at her cabin. Then at another safe house, just before it all fell apart.

“What?” Aayan asks. 

She doesn’t know how to respond, is having difficulty balancing her very real emotions with the game she is playing. But in the end she goes with honesty, surprises herself a little. 

“He was never my husband,” she stammers. “Though I would have... I would have liked that.” 

Aayan is finally quiet, comes over and gives her a hug. 

And she’s thankful he’s still so young, that he can’t sense her duplicity as he holds her close. Because she takes no comfort from his embrace, just feels a need in her chest that can’t be met by falsely generated closeness. At least she’s used to it, knows how to put it away for another day. Especially now that she’s back on track with Aayan, can feel it in the way he pulls up against her. 

She lets him hold her for a moment, then readies herself for the next move. Pulls away and tells him that she’s going to leave him alone for a bit. 

He falls for it so readily it’s almost too easy, tells her to stay. 

Even when she asks if he wants to pray, brings it up to assess the strength of his want. He smiles shyly, almost endearingly. Looks down at his feet, almost visibly gathering courage for whatever he’s about to say next. 

He puts it so innocently, asks if he can touch her again. 

Carrie reaches out her hand and he takes it. It’s that easy, she thinks to herself. She knows she’s got him, now it’s just a matter of time. 

Aayan makes his sweet confession and she does her best to reassure him, tells him that she’ll teach him how to give. Looks at the poor kid who has no place in the midst of an intelligence game. Thinks how the boy is kind, smart, naive. That he doesn’t even know he’s a pawn, being played by everyone. 

And she’s almost there already so Carrie pushes on, leans in and does what needs to be done. 

* 

She’s able to contain it for only so long. Somewhere in the physical act of sex Carrie feels it all release, suddenly slide away. The emotional wall she’s built, the steel cage around the recent past. 

She had almost forgotten how fucking sad she still was that Brody was gone forever. That she had wanted a life with him, had somehow thought they could make it work. 

Tears start to stream out and she tries to hide it but can’t quite. Aayan slows down, asks if he’s hurting her. 

And for the briefest moment Carrie wonders what the fuck she is doing, how using sex to reel in a twenty year old boy ended up being the only way to do her job. But she’s already gone this far, can’t exactly change tactics now. 

So she puts on her best fake smile, tells him she’s just happy. 

It’s possibly the biggest lie she’s ever told. And that’s saying a lot for a professional liar. But Carrie’s starting to realize how far she is from being happy, so far she can’t even picture what it would look like, feel like. 

Aayan somehow believes her, and she prevents any more questioning by kissing him again. Thankfully it’s the easiest play in the book, all she can manage through the sudden burst of uncontrollable emotion. 

She tells herself to just keep playing the part, that she’s right there, in the game. It’s what she wants, who she is. 

But suddenly things are starting to hit very close to home. And Carrie knows from experience that means there’s a shit storm soon to come.


	16. 4.5.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conversation, two ways.

4.5.2

It’s early when she hears the impatient knock on the door and it’s not until it happens that Carrie realizes she’s been waiting for it. Not that she’s actually thought of anything other than the mission at hand, bringing Aayan around. But somewhere in her subconscious she knew he’d be coming. 

She had been watching the boy sleep, thinking how vulnerable he was in his situation. It was endearing in a way, and she had come to like him more than anticipated. Of course she is just using him like always, isn’t going to get him any of the things she promised. Yet telling him her painful truths had actually made sort of bond between them, and Carrie almost forgets she only did it to get his secret in return. 

The knocking makes her impatient immediately, interrupts her momentary peace. She knows who it is, and she already does not want to talk to him. 

Lately just thinking of Quinn makes her irritable and she can’t quite figure out why. She thinks it stems from their first conversation after he got back, when he told her how close he’d been to getting out. Since then she’s felt a low lying guilt about him, dragging him back into something he’d been so close to escaping. It was why she had tried to make amends, settle things. 

But Quinn isn’t easily settled, never has been. And talking to him now is not going to be pleasant. She doesn’t have much of a choice though, knows he won’t go until this is done. So Carrie puts on her emotional armour, walks out the door and looks around for him. 

She spots him across the street, sitting behind a tree, breaking pretty much every rule in the book. And she wonders what the hell could be so important for him to just sit plainly near the safe house, so out in the open. 

“Have you ever heard of protocol?” she snaps as she approaches. 

“Have you ever heard of the phone?” Quinn volleys back, as he stands up, crosses his arms. 

“I’m fucking busy,” she replies. Which is the truth, what she was doing required total immersion. There was no time for her to think about anything else. 

“You have gone completely AWOL,” he fires back. “That is bullshit.” 

The thing Carrie hates most is he is often fucking right, will point out exactly what she doesn’t want to see. So she has no real come back to his accusation because it’s true and she knows it. 

“Well, here I am,” she says instead. “So what’s your big emergency?” 

“There are two of them,” he replies sharply. “Number one, Saul found Farhad Ghazi.” 

“Where?” she asks, irritated to realize that maybe Quinn does actually have things she needs to know. 

“He’s flying to Johannesburg as we speak, Agency is going to pick up the trail when he lands,” Quinn replies. 

And she thinks that’s why you’re fucking here, Quinn. To pick up on this stuff for her, not to badger her about shit he’s already dealt with. 

“Alright, so you handled it,” Carrie says, still wondering why he’s so pissed off. 

“That’s not the point,” he snaps. 

“What you want a gold star?” she fires back, realizing she needs to get on the offensive. Or Quinn is going to get to her in that way that he does. 

“We also found the cleric,” he adds, condescendingly. 

“Okay, two gold stars,” she snarks right back. Fuck, she thinks. If everything’s dealt with then what the fuck does he need her for? 

“But without a drone, which you could have secured in five minutes, he slipped away,” Quinn continues, interrupting her. 

Fuck, Carrie thinks, lets it slip out quietly. Now she gets why he’s pissed, realizes he might have a point. 

“Yes, you crapped the fucking bed,” he points out. 

And the thing is it doesn’t matter if Quinn is right, if she fucked up. Because she’s onto something bigger than following the cleric or an ISI thug. She knows Aayan is the key to everything and she’s on the brink, has him perfectly snagged in her web of trust and deceit. 

That’s the part Quinn doesn’t fucking get - that she knows exactly what she’s doing, that everything hinges on this boy, her asset. 

“You’re wrong, Quinn,” she states. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

And though he’s been pissed off this whole time, something now shifts in his body language, becomes even stiffer, more disapproving. 

“Well, why don’t you tell me then,” he replies, the words firing sharply off his tongue. “Why don’t you tell me just what it is you’re doing in there.” 

Of course she hears the judgement right away, the accusation in his tone. The worst part is the hollowness she feels as she tries to come up with a response. Because as much as she has to do whatever she can, Carrie knows there are still lines that shouldn’t be crossed. 

Yet this is who she is, how it’s always been. She steps beyond the lines, will do anything for the mission. And if Quinn has a problem with that then maybe she needs to push him off his hypocritical moral high ground. 

“I’m recruiting someone,” she finally says, has no other way of putting it. 

But of course Quinn pulls no punches, never has. 

“Really,” he snaps. “Cause to me it looks like you’re fucking a child.” 

Somehow he always knows exactly what will get her right in the gut, hit her where it hurts. And instantly all her emotional defenses fire up, tenseness works it way up into her neck. 

Quinn turns, starts to walk away. And even though Carrie knows she should just let him go, let him think what he wants, she can’t. Of all people, she doesn’t want Quinn to think badly of her, has always appreciated the mutual respect between them. 

“I had two days!” she replies defensively. “I had to move fast.” 

It’s what she’s been telling herself this whole time, that the end justified the means. Especially if the end was a line on Hassaim Haqqani. 

But obviously Quinn doesn’t share her point of view, turns with as much quiet anger in him as she’s ever seen. He walks back up to her, pushes into her space. 

“Is there no line? Carrie?” he asks forcefully. “Is there no fucking line?” 

It’s exactly what she had been asking herself earlier but having Quinn question her morality right to her face is not something that she can handle right now. Every defensive wall is up at the moment and she needs a way to back out of this situation, get rid of him. 

Thankfully, as much as he knows how to get to her, she knows him just as well. There’s a reason he’s extra touchy this morning and it has nothing to do with her being incommunicado for a day. It’s one of those things she both loves and hates about him - he is particularly sensitive to her actions, cares about her more than he should. 

“What’s it to you anyways?” she fires back, knowing exactly what it is to him, also knowing he will never admit it. 

Quinn pauses for a moment, and for a second she thinks her plan may have backfired, that he is going into territory that shouldn’t be explored. But then his expression changes, loses a degree of intensity. 

“Nothing,” he finally says, clearly trying to believe his own lie. 

“Okay then,” Carrie replies, gives him a ‘so there’ look. 

“Enjoy,” Quinn says snarkily as he finally turns and walks away. 

“All right,” she answers, thankful the conversation is finally done. 

Quinn stalks off and Carrie heads back to the safe house, tries to put the whole confrontation back behind her emotional wall. She doesn’t have time to deal with Quinn, care about what he thinks. Aayan is the key to figuring this whole thing out, she tells herself. And the only way to get him talking is to get him to trust her. 

Carrie walks back in, sees that Aayan’s not in bed anymore. Looks around and has a moment of panic, thinks he might have somehow left while she was arguing with Quinn. Finally she looks up at the windows, walks up to find him on the balcony, looking out at the hills. 

She tells Aayan it was one of her stringers at the door, then comes up to stand close to him as he admires the beauty of the view, puts her hand on his back. 

After doing the job for so long, recruiting so many assets, Carrie senses that this is the moment, that Aayan’s about to break. And then, right on schedule, he tells her his big truth - that his uncle is still alive, that he takes him medicine. 

Carrie reminds herself to breathe, to keep calm as the boy confides in her, tells her he didn’t want to lie to her any longer. Little bombs of excitement go off inside of her as her ploy works out perfectly and she mentally says a ‘so there’ to Quinn for questioning her ways. 

Her ensnarement of Aayan has almost been perfect, she tells herself as he tells her it’s a secret, that she can’t write about it. 

Of course Carrie pretends to object, then lets him win, agrees to not tell anyone. 

And it’s almost perverse that he thinks it’s all true, that they’re being honest with each other. He says how his uncle is the only family he has left, then looks away sadly. 

It’s not until right then that Carrie really gets that she’s the reason his whole family is dead, that it’s just random luck that Aayan survived the attack. And for a brief moment it hits her hard, to think of killing him, his parents, his siblings. 

But then Carrie shakes herself out of it, tells herself that it’s in the past now, that she’s doing what she can to right the wrong, find out what happened. And now that Aayan has admitted his first secret, she knows he will end up leading her right to Haqqani, that she just has to keep playing it right. 

So she pushes it all out of her mind - questions of right and wrong, lines that should or shouldn’t be crossed. Fuck Quinn and his judgments, she thinks, vindicated by her success. 

Carrie takes the boy into her arms, caresses him gently as the sun pushes above the hills. Yet the warmth of the day doesn’t rid her of the coldness in her gut, the doubt that Quinn planted in her mind. 

*

He’s sitting in a stew of angry disgust, sharply aware of just how reactive Carrie makes him, even when she’s not around. 

Nominally, that’s the point. Her absence from the job, her refusal to take calls. But if he’s honest with himself Quinn knows it’s not just that - he wouldn’t be this worked up if it was just dereliction of duty. 

And no one else will confront her about this, they’re all scared of her - for good reason too. But this is pretty much exactly why he came back, to try and keep her in line. Of course, now that he’s standing here, ready to confront her, he wants to be somewhere else, does not want to have to deal with any of this shit. 

He sees Carrie emerge from her hideout, not quite dressed. She looks pissed off and sets on him right away, snaps at him about protocol. 

Quinn’s just as angry as he asks her if she’s ever heard of the fucking phone, calls bullshit when she tells him she’s been busy. He knows exactly what kind of busy she’s been, has seen this before. But somehow this is different. Partly because it’s a kid, partly because he’s mostly innocent. Playing a terrorist, someone that knows what he’s getting himself into, that’s one thing. Whatever she’s got going on in that safe house with the kid, that’s something else all together. 

Finally Carrie calms down enough to ask why he was trying to get a hold of her and he tries to tamp down his anger as he tells her about Ghazi, about losing the cleric because she fucked up. 

And of course telling Carrie she’s in the wrong, screwed things up yet, finally pushes her past the edge. He can see her heat up internally as she glares at him.

“You’re wrong, Quinn,” she snaps. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Fuck did they ever know how to push each other’s buttons, he thinks. Because he’s pretty fucking sure he knows exactly what he’s talking about. And if she wants to bring it up then he’s ready to do battle.

“Well, why don’t you tell me then,” he replies, dripping accusation off his words. “Why don’t you tell me just what it is you’re doing in there.” 

He wonders if she’s surprised he brought it up, what the hell she could possibly say to justify what she’s doing. But he’s learned not to underestimate her in any way, that seemingly anything is possible when it comes to Carrie.

“I’m recruiting someone,” she finally says, as if he’s just going to let it go at that. 

She must not realize he’s fucking over the edge, is not going to hold anything back. Because she’s really crossed the line this time. And he’s more than a little scared he’s never going to get her back. 

“Really,” Quinn fires backs. “Cause to me it looks like you’re fucking a child.” 

At least he can tell that it inflicts some damage, he can see her tense with the accusation, put her emotional guard up. And he thinks that’s got to be it, that she can’t have anything to say after that. So he turns, starts to walk away. At least he’s said his piece, told her what he really thinks. 

But of course Carrie tries to defend herself, tells him that she only had two days, that she had to move fast. 

The worst part is he can tell she means it, that she thinks that justifies what she’s been doing. And that makes him wonder if he ever actually knew her, if this is just who Carrie is. 

He doesn’t want to believe it, still thinks there must be something human left in her. And even though he knows it’s pointless, he turns and walks back up to her, pushes into her space. 

“Is there no line? Carrie?” he asks angrily. “Is there no fucking line?” 

“What’s it to you anyways?” she fires right back. 

And just like that Quinn loses the upper hand in the situation, feels his innards start to roil. Because she always knows exactly how to push him, and he does not at all want to think about why this has him so inflamed. 

He has nothing to come back with, knows she’s won another round. Because there’s no fucking way he’s going to explore this subject with her and Carrie knows it. She’s playing him as she always does, using his weakness against him. 

“Nothing,” he finally says, knowing the lie is evident in his voice. 

“Okay then,” Carrie replies, gives him a ‘so there’ look.

“Enjoy,” he snaps at her, irritated she’s managed to get the best of the situation yet again.

“All right,” she answers, turning and walking away. 

Quinn strides off, now completely pissed off in every way. At Carrie, at himself, at the situation in general. He doesn’t know why he ever thought he could influence her thoughts, change her actions. It’s like he enjoys banging his head against a wall, deliberately chooses hopeless tasks to make himself even more miserable than usual. 

He’s still fuming when he gets to his vehicle, sits in the driver’s seat clenching and unclenching his hands as he thinks about the conversation that just happened. The worst part is that Carrie has a point, that what she’s doing should not mean so much to him. 

Of course he knows exactly the implication that she’s making - it’s what Carrie does, finds your tender spot and attacks it. It’s what she’s doing now with the boy, making him hers. And she did it to Quinn long ago, before he even recognized what was going on. 

But now he knows he’s complicit, that he’s had ample chance to let it go and yet he’s here, trying to talk sense into a fucking ice cold intelligence gathering machine. So that’s on him, and of course Carrie knew exactly where to attack, how to get him off his game. 

So now it’s time for him to harden up, show her his resolve. If this is the line she’s taking then he will at least refuse to be involved, show his disgust in her methods. And he knows it will be hard, that he will want to give in. Because there’s something in him he can’t get rid of - a desire to protect her, keep her safe. 

And somehow nothing she does can extinguish it - if this last thing with the boy wasn’t enough to kill it then he doesn’t know what could. No matter how harsh she is to him, how much he can’t bear to be around her, he just can’t stop caring. 

The thing is, Quinn can’t quite determine if he hates himself more for this failing or if it’s the only redeeming quality he has left. All he knows is that he’s completely disgusted by her - yet, as always, he can’t stay away.


	17. 4.6.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day til season 5 gift of fic!  
> A to B and Back Again, all three chapters in one go.

4.6.1

Carrie walks into the embassy, head full of plans, possibilities. Aayan’s gone to get his things from the university so she has until he gets back to arrange his ‘kidnapping’. The perfect play for this situation - send a man to be obvious and watch him at the university, get Aayan nervous. Then set it up so he ‘escapes’ from the apartment, hopefully leads them to Haqqani. 

It’s a good plan and she just needs to dial in the logistics, get a team ready to go. Heads towards Quinn’s office - wants him on the job so it goes as planned, no mistakes. Only briefly thinks about their encounter the previous day, remembers how pissy he was. But now she feels more than a bit justified, vindicated. Once she sets Aayan free they will follow him right to their target. And then Quinn and everyone else will just have to swallow their opinions in the face of her results. 

So that’s what Carrie thinks as she walks in to talk to him, tells herself to just get the mission done. 

He’s on the computer when she enters, a relief in itself. It’s still somehow reassuring to see him there - which is annoying because she’s still pissed off at him, doesn’t want to admit to herself that she needs him. 

“Good, you’re here,” she says as she walks in. 

“I’m not the one who’s never around,” Quinn replies bitterly, glancing up at her briefly before looking away. 

His little dart hits her dead on, reminds her that he knows exactly how to push her buttons. But she’s fucking tired of his shit, does not need his snippy attitude while she gets things done, find Haqqani. 

“Don’t start, okay?” she says, already flustered. Wishes he could just be his reliable self without the petty comments, the confused moral compass. 

At least he doesn’t push it, seems to be listening as she starts in on what she needs. 

“I’ve got something that may require logistical support. I’ll need a small team. Three or four people, absolutely discrete,” she explains. 

“For what?” Quinn asks. 

That’s not something she’s completely sure about yet, thinks there’s still a couple ways it could play out. But if she sets it up right, the job should be easy. Send out some fake ISI agents, tell him they can’t get out through Pakistan, then set him free, hopefully off to Haqqani.

“It involves Haqqani’s nephew,” she says. 

“So I’m guessing clothing is optional,” he replies, in his fuck you tone. 

And the last thing she wants to deal with right now is Quinn’s bullshit, his fucking judgements. How many people has he killed and he’s going to tell her she’s crossed the line? All she knows is he doesn’t need to be making such a big fucking deal about it, doesn’t need to be such a dick. 

“What is your fucking problem?” she snaps in his face. 

“My problem?” he fires back. “My problem is that a surveillance operation crashed and burned because you were nowhere to be found.” 

She thinks bullshit, Quinn. This isn’t about the fucking surveillance. Well, it was, but not entirely. She can see the disgust in his eyes, his disdain for her recruitment methods. And if she’s truthful with herself she isn’t exactly thrilled to be playing this card once again, has to remind herself she had no other options with such a short amount of time. 

Yet, as always, Carrie got what she needed in the allotted two days. So fuck Quinn and his fucking assassin’s morality code, she thinks. She doesn’t have time for his bullshit. She has a job to do and he can either get on board or fucking step out of the way. 

“Really, I seem to recall you showing up at my doorstep,” she replies sarcastically. 

Quinn doesn’t reply for a moment, just gives her that deadened pissed off look. 

“Fine,” he finally says icily. “Whatever you say, Carrie. You’re the boss.” 

Each one of his words freezes with coldness, and Carrie suddenly realizes she can’t be around him at the moment. She needs to just get this done, see it through and get the result. And it’s not going to happen with Quinn getting in the fucking way at every step, questioning her every move. 

“You know what, forget it,” she says, turning and heading out the door. “I’m going go find someone who’s actually willing to do their job.” 

Carrie walks out of Quinn’s office, thankful to be away from fucking attitude. She can’t remember the last time things were so tense between them, maybe not since just after he showed up in her life, when she still thought he was an arrogant asshole. 

Not that she didn’t still think that. It was just somehow he had become her arrogant asshole, someone actually on her side. Well, until Kabul. And now Islamabad. Carrie’s not sure whose side he’s on now but it’s definitely not hers. 

Which is bullshit because that’s why she wanted him here in the first place - to have someone she can rely on, trust to have her back. And now she has an op to make happen, needs to pull a team together from the rest of her staff. 

Carrie pauses, stops to take a second to think. Realizes she’s been going to Quinn for this sort of thing for so long she doesn’t have a back up plan. 

For fucks sake, she thinks to herself. 

Looks up to see John Redmond leave the staffroom, walk towards his office. Not exactly her first choice but he is deputy chief, might actually have some uses. 

“You got a second?” she asks. 

Redmond nods towards his office and Carrie walks down the hall, thankful at having a new option appear but still tense, irritated at Quinn. Tries to put him out of mind but stops for a moment before she enters Redmond’s office, looks back to give him a mental fuck you. 

*

Quinn’s walking down the hallway at the station, head down in a file when he feels a faint buzz in the air, looks up to see Carrie striding towards him. 

She looks pissed off as usual, as if she’s just come from another personal confrontation. What a surprise, Quinn thinks to himself. It’s just her fucking effect on people. 

He’s about to just let her push by, doesn’t want to deal with her shit after their battle that morning, doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s pissed to be off the mission. Has to admit he didn’t see that coming, even with the way he was pushing her. He never thought she would go to someone else, that he would ever push over that line.

But as Carrie tries to wordlessly shove by him, something bright catches his attention. Quinn turns his head sharply, sees the slow drip of blood from her nose, the slight red scuff under her eye. 

At first he tells himself it’s because she’s so fucking pale, that he can’t help but notice. Then tries to tell himself he doesn’t care, that she’s clearly fine enough to be running around pissing people off, possibly getting punched for it.

But all the rational thoughts, all the anger in the world can’t make him keep walking, not care. Unconsciously, Quinn finds himself stopping, standing in her way. And, predictably, Carrie comes to a halt right up in his personal space, gives him her best what the fuck look. 

What the fuck is right, he thinks to himself. He is a sucker for punishment, can’t ever fucking do what he should. But it’s done now, can’t be undone. 

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks brusquely. 

Carrie scowls, tries to again push by him without answering. 

And he almost lets her go, knows they both need their space at the moment. Quinn realizes he’s not acting completely rationally, that he’s more angry than he should be at what Carrie’s been up to. And it’s not exactly just because she fucked up the stakeout, wouldn’t answer her phone. He just doesn’t want to admit to himself why he’s so upset with her, certainly can’t say it to her. 

But he’s been about as blunt as possible, said what needed to be said. If she can’t take it then that’s her fucking problem, Quinn thinks to himself. 

Yet now she’s trying to walk by him, bleeding and angry and there’s a fucking rise in his gut, a tenseness in his neck. He may feel like throttling her a million times in a day but she isn’t going to get hurt on his watch - that much he still needs to ensure. 

So he stands his ground, doesn’t let her get by even though staffers are starting to notice. 

“Let me go!” she hollers at him, clearly not giving a shit about making a scene. 

“Tell me what happened,” he counters steadily, trying to will her into calming the fuck down. 

Of course she doesn’t settle down, tries to walk by one more time. When that doesn’t work she stands and shoots death rays at him as he reaches out, wipes the blood off her face with his hand. 

It’s as if Carrie didn’t even notice she was bleeding even though it had run all the way from her nose down to her lips. But as soon as his fingers make contact with her skin she raises her hand to brush him off, holds an already bloody kleenex to her nose.

“I’m fine,” she replies, with another fuck you look. 

“I didn’t ask if you were okay,” Quinn mutters. “I asked what happened.” 

Carrie seethes for another moment and he thinks she’s going to ask him what’s it to you. The same as before, likely to get the same result. He will have to say nothing, make up some stupid sounding excuse. But he thinks they both know what it is to him, what she is to him. Not that it’s definable, just that it’s there. 

“You know I’ll just ask the guys and they’ll fucking tell me,” he adds when she doesn’t say anything. “So just say it, Carrie.” 

She’s clearly still extremely pissed at him, manages to stay angry for another thirty seconds before finally exhaling loudly, giving him a glare. 

“Parvez hit me during the op. Wanted it to look realistic, ” she finally snaps acidly. “It’s nothing.” 

And it is nothing, should be nothing. Shit that happens when things start moving, especially when Carrie’s involved. He should know, he’s the one that had to shoot her. 

But it takes every ounce of control he has not to flip out, demand to know where Parvez is, make a scene. He tells himself that if he’d been in control of the op, he wouldn’t have let any of this shit go down, that Carrie’s safety would have been priority number one. 

Quinn knows he can’t say any of the things that are coming to his mind. That he’s upset, that he’s sorry, that he flips out at the thought of her getting hurt. He’s not even sure any of those things are true. But they feel really fucking true right now. 

Yet here he is, stuck in the moment, Carrie pissed off at him again, How many of these scenes have they had, he wonders. How many are in their future. 

“What the fuck!” he finally says, a bit louder than he intends to. “He must have hit you pretty hard.” 

Carrie gives him the impatient yeah, idiot look then ducks her head to avoid his gaze.

Quinn knows he should just let her go, that nothing good is going to come of this encounter. Carrie is pissed at him, for a fairly good reason even. And he’s upset with her for so many reasons that his head feels like it’s going to explode. 

But her nose is still bloody, even though she’s trying to hide it. And Quinn knows it hurts more than she will admit, that her head is probably throbbing. 

And it doesn’t matter that she disgusts him, that she needs more than a punch in the nose to wake her up to the situation. Just that morning he would have been glad to see her a bit bloody. still thinks she fucking deserves whatever she gets after everything that’s happened. But now he pictures Parvez hitting her and feels an irrational, visceral anger. 

Yet Quinn knows there’s nothing to be done, that Carrie would flip her shit if he didn’t let her go soon, that confronting Parvez would just piss her off even more. She’s getting that look that says she’s reached the end of her patience and he knows he’s pushing it, is too far in her personal space, too close. 

“I bet your head is killing you,” he comments, a last try at connecting with her before letting her pass by. 

He’s surprised when Carrie turns her head, looks up at him. She still looks fucking irritable, anxious. But she’s no longer fuming or trying to shove by him. 

“Yeah,” she finally admits with a scowl. “It’s pretty fucking bad. But shit happens. And I have a op to run. Now will you fucking let me go?” 

It still pisses him off that she’s running something without him but he’s not going to offer and he knows she’s not going to ask. So they’re just back where they started - at a standoff, neither side willing to back down. 

And then there’s nothing to do but to let her go then, nothing that will settle the burn in his chest, the roil in his gut. So Quinn finally stands aside, lets her step by and watches her walk away, her blood still staining his fingertips.

*

Carrie stalks down the hallway away from Quinn, head pulsating in time with her elevated heartbeat, wondering what the fuck that was all about. From his attitude that morning she figured Quinn would try to stay as far away from her as possible, at least for the time being. Obviously he didn’t approve of what she was doing - not that it was his fucking place to tell her what to do. And she’s been trying her best to convince herself that she doesn’t actually care what he thinks of her, that she’s not upset at his accusations. 

But a little blood and he’s immediately different, not so caught up in his disapproving act. Had somehow fallen back into his usual self - hard yet soft, with a mean protective streak. And it almost felt good, remembering what he’s like when he’s on her side, when he’s not extremely mad at her. Quinn’s always been very conscious of her and usually she likes that about him. He notices things in his cold quiet way. 

Like the pain in her head. Maybe even the pain in her heart - the one she pretends not to know about. 

The thing is, Carrie doesn’t have time for any of this bullshit, has a job to do. And as much as she wants to put aside her pride and ask Quinn to come in on the op she knows she can’t do it - especially not after he seemed so concerned about what happened that afternoon. It would be like admitting she needs him even though he’s doing his best to piss her off. And that isn’t something she’s ready to do quite yet. 

So she tries to put all thoughts about Quinn out of her head, just as she has the rest of the day. Aayan is on the loose and is hopefully about to lead them straight to Haqqani. Like usual, she’s done her part, got the job done on a tight schedule. Which is more than she can say for Quinn, who seems to be too busy moralizing to do anything else. 

Yet as she walks into the control room, Carrie still finds herself unfocused, off kilter. She tells herself it’s just the headache, that it will pass once she throws back some ibuprofen and water. But she knows it’s more than that, just doesn’t admit it. 

Because she can still feel a shade of his touch on her lip, remembers the unbidden shiver she felt at the base of her neck, her surprise at the gentleness of his action. And even though Carrie thinks he was overreacting, a part of her is thankful he noticed, that he didn’t just blow right by. 

But it’s not something she is ready to admit to herself at the moment - needs to stay wrapped up in the heat of anger so she doesn’t have to look at anything else other than the mission, doesn’t have to think about anything except accomplishing her goals. And this thing with Quinn, she’ll just have to resolve it another time, maybe when he’s done being such a considerate asshole, maybe when she remembers how to feel.


	18. 4.6.2

4.6.2

A thousand thoughts of Haqqani are in her head when her phone rings, startles her. She answers a bit sharply then realizes it’s Aayan, calling to check in on her and she has to switch tones quickly, play her part. 

Carrie sees Redmond pick up the headset, knows everyone is listening in now. 

It starts out easy, a little reassurance that she’s okay, a lie about having to leave the country within twenty four hours. But Carrie finds that she’s nervous, more than she should be. Isn’t exactly comfortable with their conversation in everyone’s earpiece. And that’s before the boy starts confessing his feelings. 

Aayan tells her he had a long time to think on his bus ride, that all he thought about was her. 

Just by his tone she can tell where this is going, that she’s played him perfectly. And even at the safe house she would have felt awkward at this. These moments of innocence, tenderness between them. But the thing is they are only innocent in one direction, only one side of the interaction is real. And as much as she fucking hates it when everyone else refers to him as a boy, she does it herself, knows it’s the truth. She’s playing a kid, deliberately seizing his affection and using it against him. 

She tells herself it’s what has to be done, that it’s saving lives. 

And then he tells her that he loves her, makes her stomach drop away with uneasiness. Even though she’s facing the other direction Carrie can feel the awkwardness in the control room, has the briefest realization of how fucked up the whole operation is. But she has to play her part, push Aayan towards their target. 

So she tries to ignore her discomfort, reminds herself that this is getting them towards their end goal. No matter what anyone else thinks, she’s getting the fucking job done. 

“I love you too,” she replies, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. 

Aayan hangs up, satisfied with her lie. Leaves her in the control room, agitated, uncomfortable. No one says anything, makes mention of what just happened. But Carrie can feel the tenseness in the air, knows exactly what it’s made of.

*

Carrie’s sitting at the back of the room, trying to avoid judging eyes. To be fair, it could all just be in her head because no one has dared to look her in the eye since the phone call. But she’s fairly sure she knows what they’re all thinking - the same shit Quinn’s been throwing in her face this whole time. 

At least he’s got the balls to call her on it, doesn’t just look away every time she walks by. As much as he pisses her off, Carrie respects that about him, that he’s not afraid of a confrontation. 

She’s pretty fucking glad he wasn’t in the room for the phone call though, knows it would have been even more excruciating if he’d been there listening in. It was bad enough everyone else heard - she’s sure Quinn will hear by the night’s end, wonders if it’ll just keep driving them apart. 

Over and over she plays the conversation in her head, tries to convince herself that everything is justified, that she’s just doing her job. But all she hears is Quinn’s voice, asking her if there’s no fucking line. 

And the thing is she’s really not sure, has always just done whatever needed to be done in order to get results. It’s what made her the best at the job - her unrelenting drive, her willingness to do more than anyone else. 

But now Carrie has to admit that Quinn’s put doubts in her mind, that she’s no longer sure where the line is. And it’s getting to be too much, costing her too many brain cycles. So when Redmond comes back in telling her that Fara’s brought in all the stuff left at the safe house, Carrie can’t contain it anymore, has to ask. 

“So what do you think?” she asks. 

Redmond plays dumb, asks her about what exactly. 

“You heard me talking to him, everyone did,” she mutters. “What do you think?” 

Redmond walks towards her, sits down.   “I think you don’t care what anyone thinks,” he replies. 

In many ways she wishes that was the case, cultivates that persona. But like almost everything else about her, it’s a lie. Because she does care, wouldn’t be so pissed off at Quinn if she didn’t. It’s just not something she’s usually willing to admit, is surprised to find herself asking Redmond about it. 

But at least he’s a neutral source, doesn’t have Quinn’s special interest in the situation. And after being so at odds with him before, Carrie’s found Redmond to be an alright guy, a capable officer. 

“Say I do,” she says, preparing herself for whatever might come. 

Redmond considers for a moment. 

“When you came back from DC we all thought Haqqani was dead,” he starts. “We were ready to let him rest in peace while he prepared to do god knows what. Now we’re about to get him for real. You made that happen. I guess that’s what I think... mostly anyway.” 

It should make her feel better - well maybe minus his final comment. It’s what Carrie’s been trying to tell herself all along, that the end justifies the means. But somehow the argument doesn’t seem very convincing at the moment, isn’t enough to resolve the queasiness at the pit of her stomach. 

Redmond gets up, leaves her alone with her thoughts again. Carrie thinks about Aayan, out there on this mission, played for a fool. He is a sweet kid, intelligent and affectionate. So easily preyed on, taken advantage of. 

Carrie tries not to think about how the day is going to end, if the mission goes off as planned. The chance that Aayan makes it out of the situation alive is miniscule, almost zero. But Haqqani should also be dead, along with whatever plot he is hatching.

And her thoughts keep turning back to crossing the line. What everyone’s thinking. What Fara and Quinn have been fucking harping on her about. 

Because maybe she does care. But really, Carrie’s not sure if she remembers how. 

*

Carrie’s watching the third red SUV pull up in the control room, wondering what the hell all of Haqqani’s men are looking at in the sky. She already has the feeling that something isn’t exactly as it should be, that there’s a piece she’s missing. 

But that thought is quickly pushed out of her mind when Aayan approaches the man that emerges from the SUV, begins to talk to him closely. 

Of course Quinn bursts into the control room at exactly that moment, right when they’re in the thick of it. Tells her something about Saul not making his flight, distracting her from her primary focus. 

Carrie puts the information aside, doesn’t want to be distracted from the situation at hand. In the back of her mind she wonders quickly how Saul’s disappearance could have anything to do with the operation but is distracted as she looks back at the screen just as they get a positive ID on Haqqani. 

All of a sudden the air is tense, orders are fired around. 

The drone operator confirms he’s locked on target, that the weapon is armed. And then they’re all just waiting on her, waiting for the call. 

Carrie looks at the screen, feels her heartbeat quicken. She doesn’t give the order to fire right away, wants to see how the situation will play out. Thinks there’s still the smallest chance Aayan can make it out of their target zone if she waits long enough. That she won’t have to drop a missile on her asset, this boy she’s convinced to love her. 

Suddenly there’s action on the screen, movement from the car. Quinn picks up on it first, asks what the fuck just as she’s registering what they’re seeing. 

It’s Saul. Being displayed for the drone. 

And of course that’s the piece she’s been missing. They had been looking at the drone, they knew Aayan was followed. 

How, that she didn’t know yet. But that was besides the point at the moment. 

They watch as Aayan and Haqqani talk, then see the boy look up at the sky. And it’s not hard to guess what Aayan’s just been told, that he’s been played by the CIA. 

Aayan looks stunned, ever the naive boy. And suddenly Carrie feels a wave of regret, a realization of her role in placing him in the middle of everything. It had only been two days, was just another play. But she had unexpectedly come to like him, had felt oddly comfortable sharing her secrets with him. He was just a kid, caught in a situation not of his making, trying to make good in a tough world. 

Haqqani walks up to the boy, kisses him on the forehead. Then pulls out a gun, shoots him in the head. 

Carrie gasps, doesn’t want to believe her eyes. Feels a surge of nausea pulse up her body, feels shock take over her mind. Hears Quinn voice her thoughts behind her, but as if through a haze. 

All she can think is he’s dead. And it doesn’t matter that she had come into this prepared to kill him herself. To watch Haqqani do it, shoot his own nephew pointblank in the head. Just a boy. She admits it now. 

Anger, hate, guilt all shoot through her as the immediate shock starts to wear off, as Haqqani casually returns to his vehicle. 

Carrie’s mind is mostly a big fuck you, a neural explosion of losses. And all she can think is Haqqani has to fucking die, that this is her one no fail chance. He thinks she doesn’t have the balls to do it, to make the hard decision. But he doesn’t fucking know her at all.

Nothing else matters at the moment, Saul’s presence a problem but not an insurmountable one. She knows this is what he would do, tells herself he would make the same call if their positions were reversed. He was always willing to sacrifice anything for the mission. Her, himself. They were the same in that way. 

She knows he’s waiting for it, that he has to be thinking about it. Convinces herself he would be disappointed if she didn’t give the order. 

Seconds are slipping away, her window closing. 

There is no time to be sentimental, she thinks to herself. Sacrifices have to be made. 

And so she makes the call. 

“Take the shot,” she says, with only the slightest hesitation. 

*

“Take the shot,” Carrie repeats, more forcefully this time. 

And thankfully, it’s just enough to knock Quinn out of momentary shock, make him realize what is at stake. 

“Carrie!” he exclaims, still unable to believe what he’s hearing. 

“We’re losing our window,” she replies brusquely, as if that’s all that needs to be discussed. 

“It’s Saul,” Quinn interjects, somehow sure that she can’t mean what she’s about to do. Wants to give her time to reconsider, realize that she can never go back on this moment. 

Regardless of how pissed he is at her, Quinn realizes this is the time to put that shit aside. He saw something snap in her when the boy got shot, knows what his own reaction was and he wasn’t sleeping with the kid. Even if it was just work, he can tell it stung her hard. 

It’s pushing her to do this, to complete the mission at any cost. And suddenly Quinn is sure of only one thing. He can’t let her do this, will lose her for good if he lets this happen. 

And it doesn’t matter that it’s tactically the right call, that they should take any chance to take out Haqqani - especially considering he seems to be one step in front of them at all times. Carrie thinks she can rationalize it now, will tell herself that Saul would make the same call. Which could very well be true. But he doesn’t give a fuck about what Saul would do, doesn’t really give much of a fuck about Saul at all. Quinn just knows if he lets her sacrifice him, she will never forgive herself, will lose a part of herself forever. 

Of course he’s the only one that sees this, the only one that understands the stakes. It’s why he’s back in Islamabad - because she needed him. No matter that she thinks she needs something different. Quinn knows why he came back. 

He was scared for her. Even through all that booze and guilt and anger. He was still constantly concerned about Carrie, wondering if she would survive. And apparently for good reason. 

So even if this isn’t his call, if he has no right, Quinn’s making it anyway. He knows no one else can, that she holds the highest authority in the room. Only he can override her, their history giving him that at least. 

“Reaper one, weapons away,” she demands, seemingly completely sure of her decision. 

“That is the ex-director of the CIA, do not shoot,” Quinn interjects, hoping he can stall the drone operator long enough to talk some sense into Carrie, resolve the situation. 

The operator doesn’t fire, seems unsure of what to do. And for a moment Quinn’s sure that no one in the control room is breathing as they wait to see what happens, how it plays out. 

Carrie is quiet for that second but he can feel her teetering, waits for whatever is to come. 

“Goddamn it, what did I say?!” she hollers at the unfortunate drone tech. 

“Ms. Mathison,” the operator responds dumbly, clearly unsure of whose orders to follow. Thankfully does not seem particularly willing to be the guy who blows up the former director of the CIA. 

And then Carrie tips off the brink, starts to charge towards the controls herself. 

“Take the shot goddamn it!” she yells. “Wipe that fucker out!” 

Quinn reacts quickly, steps out and grabs her by the arms before she can get by him. Turns her to face him as he holds her dangerously close, feels the heat radiating out of her. 

“Are you out of your mind?!” he yells, right up close in her face. 

Carrie stares at him as if she’s in shock - red with anger but ashen too. Her eyes are manic, wide, disbelieving. And Quinn knows there’s little point trying to talk sense into her right then, that he’s trying to appeal to a part of her that may not exist anymore. But he’s all she’s got and he will not let her do this. He will not let her kill someone she loves. No matter what it takes. He is not going to lose her to this. 

“That is Saul down there!” Quinn says intently, shaking her within his grasp, hoping something is getting through. 

“Saul,” he repeats. 

Looks at her uncomprehending eyes, mentally reminding her of everything this should mean to her. Carrie still looks completely in stunned, stares at him for a long second. Doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything. 

And it’s been a long time since he’s felt any compassion for her - before Kabul, ages before all this bullshit. But right now he remembers, looks at her and sees the Carrie he came back for, the one he grew to care about more than he thought possible. 

What Carrie sees, on the other hand, is a big a mystery to him as to anyone else. She looks at him wildly, makes him wonder if it’s over, if she’s going to lose it again. 

But she doesn’t say anything, just ends up angrily breaking out of his hold, silently walking out of the control room. Leaving him to make the call to stand down, to watch as the SUVs drive under tree cover, switch formation, then take three different roads. 

The drone operator asks him what to do but Quinn’s mind is still caught in the previous moment, at what just almost happened. He wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t come looking for Carrie, is fucking relieved that he was there. 

The drone guy asks again. And Quinn knows he should just choose one arbitrarily, that a one in three chance is still decent odds. But his head is a lot of places at the moment and he can’t even see the point. If Saul is with Haqqani at all times, it doesn’t much matter if they follow with the drone. A rescue attempt would be almost impossible with Haqqani inevitably prepared against it. And a drone overhead could give Carrie another chance, if he doesn’t figure out how to inject some sense into her. 

So in the end he says nothing at all, lets them all go. Because as much as he wants to get Haqqani, there is one sacrifice he’s not willing to make.


	19. 4.6.3

4.6.3

Carrie storms into her office, paces back and forth a few times. Her head is fully explosive, firing on all fronts. Thoughts of Aayan, of Haqqani. Saul. Quinn. Everything tossing around along with searing anger, waves of guilt. 

She can’t settle on a thought long enough to think it, just sees the image of Aayan getting shot over and over, wishes she could still go back and press the goddamned button. 

Fucking Quinn, she thinks. It would all be over if he hadn’t gotten in the fucking way. And since when did he become such a fucking pacifist? She knows better than anyone that sacrifices had to be made, that the game will take them all in the end. And Saul knows it too, would have made the same call himself. 

Carrie looks around the office manically, eyes stopping on the garbage bags Fara dropped off earlier. The only remains of their life at the safe house, two days now only remembered by her. 

Guilt crashes over her, overwhelms her sensibilities. He was her asset, her lover, a fucking kid. She sent him there, failed him, killed him. Just like before, just like always. 

Carrie feels the need to destroy, to wreak mayhem. Sweeps everything on her desk onto the floor but it’s not nearly enough to settle the turmoil bubbling in her. She wants to shatter everything, scream until she runs out of air. 

She cannot let Haqqani win, will not let anything keep her from getting him now. Especially not Quinn, sticking his fucking nose into shit that’s none of his business. What the hell gave him the right to stand in her way, override her decision? 

She still can’t believe he stopped her, let Haqqani go. Even the part of her that knows she let him do it, that she could have made the order stick. 

If anyone else had tried to stand in her way she would have tore them down instantly. But as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, Quinn has rights with her that have nothing to do with who’s in charge. And even in her darkest moments she somehow knows that he means well, that he’s trying his best for her. 

Not that she isn’t fucking pissed at him, wishes she hadn’t ever fucking begged him to come back. All he’s done is get in the way, question everything she does, make her think about shit that doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Carrie leans against her desk, silently screaming, close to tears. She tells herself it’s just a stress reaction to the debacle in the control room, getting overridden when she knew her decision was sound. But really she knows it’s a lot more than that. It’s Aayan, dead. It’s almost dropping a missile on Saul. It’s Haqqani, always a fucking step ahead. 

But most of all it’s that she played another one, got another one killed. And Carrie hasn’t even begun to look at what happened in Iran, accept her role in everything. Hasn’t even talked about it, except to the boy. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she thinks. Remembers a confession or two stateside, moments of weakness. Quinn, for all his shit qualities, is a good listener - quiet and thoughtful. 

Carrie shakes her head, feels angry tears about to spill. Her mind is in overflow mode, nothing in check. She looks at the garbage bags again, thinks how Aayan trusted her, how she’s responsible for his murder. Pretty fucking ironic since she had been about to drop a missile on him anyhow, thought she was ready for the consequences. 

The thing is she still thinks she is, that she made the right call. Saul would understand, she repeats to herself. He would rather die than be the reason for a failed operation. 

But the thought of Saul dead, incinerated by her drone, is suddenly too much too soon. Carrie sees it happen in her mind, imagines the charred remains left behind. 

Aayan, her asset, the future he will never have. And Saul, her mentor, there for almost every significant moment of her past. 

She feels the first tear finally slip past her defenses, knows there’s nothing to stop them now. Slams her door shut, lets go of everything she’s lost. 

*

The red SUVs are long gone but the tension in the control room remains, the image of Aayan’s body still on the screen. 

Quinn stares at the picture, his head and his heart both pounding. Carrie’s been gone for about thirty minutes, leaving him in a state of indecision. 

Most of him understands he should leave her alone, that he’s probably the last person she wants to see right now. But, regardless of rational thought, Quinn feels an urge to find her, to make sure she’s alright. 

Because it’s suddenly very clear to him that things are worse than he thought, that Carrie is teetering right on an edge that he can’t quite define. All he knows is that he can’t let her fall off, that his responsibility to her outweighs any anger he’s holding onto, all the disgust at her actions. 

And now the kid is dead. Which was pretty much inevitable, what he had coming from the moment she snared him. But now it no longer matters what she did, how she created the situation. Because it was never about the boy - it was always about Carrie.

The whole play with Aayan, all the false promises, Carrie’s ‘recruitment’ methods. Quinn had never really given much of a shit about the kid himself, knew he would be sacrificed along the way one way or another. But it really made him take a long look at Carrie, at this person he can’t help caring about. And what he saw really scared him, pushed him to be an asshole, to confront her because no one else would. 

Now the fear is still with him, especially after the scene just minutes ago. He knows she really meant it, was fully ready to drop a missile on Saul. It makes him think about where she is at, how cold she is right now. To make that decision, to be so sure. 

It’s exhausting, the way his emotions flip on her. He had been so fucking angry at her for something he doesn’t really have the right to judge her on. And before that, infuriated at her for putting Sandy’s death on him. And before that, royally upset with her for running away to Kabul, ditching her kid to drop bombs from a bunker.

But then Haqqani shot the kid. And it actually made an impact. In a way it’s what he’s been looking for, something to get through to her. To remind her of the stakes. 

The thing is, he keeps forgetting he can’t stand to see her hurt. That it’s what gets him into a mess with her every time. And now it’s happening again - doing his best for her while she tries her damnedest to fuck it up. 

Quinn sighs loudly, does not know what the fuck to do. There’s a part of him that wants to go look for her, check on her. Another part that knows exactly how dumb that would be. 

And he knows which part will win, that he’d rather be reassured and stupid. Carrie is obviously in a volatile state of mind and there’s no telling what she might do. He has to at least ensure that she’s safe, contained. 

He sighs again, chews his lower lip for awhile. Wonders how long to give her to cool off. Knows his patience is limited. 

Quinn’s about to head out when Redmond walks up, gives him a look. 

“You thinking about chasing her?” Redmond asks, his voice low. 

Quinn curses himself for being so obvious, doesn’t answer the question. Just looks at Redmond cursorily, wondering what he’s getting at. 

“Because there’s something you missed,” Redmond continues. “Maybe something you should know.” 

And that gets Quinn’s attention, enough to make him listen at least.

“What should I know?” he asks, low, menacing. 

“The kid called and confessed his love for her earlier today. Everyone heard,” Redmond says. “It was pretty rough.” 

There’s that thing again, Quinn thinks. It’s exactly what she deserves, what she fucking cultivates. But yet he feels for her, can’t even imagine having to endure it, knowing it’s live to the control room. 

“Fuck,” he says, cause there’s nothing else really to say about it. But Redmond is right, it’s something he should know, context for Carrie’s mindset. 

“She wanted to know what I thought about it,” Redmond says.

And now that is a surprise, Quinn thinks. Carrie asking for someone else’s opinion. Especially about Aayan. Maybe she was doubting herself, actually asking herself the hard questions. 

“And?” Quinn asks, wonders what a less personally-involved party might think. 

“I told her I thought it was worth it to get Haqqani. Well, more or less,” Redmond says with a shrug. “But the thing is, she doesn’t care what I think. You, on the other hand...” 

Quinn doesn’t like the inference in Redmond’s comment, likes to think no one else sees this thing between him and Carrie. But that was pretty much over after what just happened in the control room. So he just nods in acknowledgement of the information and walks away from Redmond, thinking about what he just learned. 

It’s just more of the shit that she brings upon herself, the universe’s way of getting her back. But he does feel for her. To be that exposed to everyone in the room. Carrie’s not exactly a sharer, and that’s a lot to share. It reminds him of another uncomfortable situation, watching her and Brody back when she was just a crazy co-worker he got stuck with.

And now she may still fall into that category but he’s the one that’s made the choice to stick. Which means it’s up to her to look out for her, at least check that she’s calmed down. No one else is in any position to do it, no one else would dare. 

The thing is he’s kind of glad to be the one in this spot, knows he asks for it. Wants to be the guy she relies on, wants to ensure she’s alright. And he partly hates himself for this weakness, but also thinks it may be the only thing keeping him human at all. 

* 

Carrie’s office door is locked and Quinn gets no response when he knocks on the door, jiggles the handle. It’s what he expected, being that it’s only been about half an hour since she took off from the control room. And he’s still sure that he’s the last person on the planet she will want to see, talk to. But he’s a fucking sucker for punishment, has tasked himself with making sure she’s stable, alright. 

Which is pretty fucking futile considering she just watched someone she cared about get shot in the head, then just about sacrificed one of the most important people in her life.

Quinn knows she’s in there, can hear muffled sobs even through the thick office door. So he quickly makes the decision, picks the lock and lets himself in. 

At first he stands close to the door, takes a moment to observe the situation. Half of Carrie’s shit is scattered on the floor and she’s leaning against her desk, head down, arms crossed, angrily crying. 

Carrie obviously hears him come in but doesn’t bother to turn and look. Keeps hugging herself tightly, sobbing into her chest.

“Fuck off, Quinn,” she says after a moment. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” 

Which is fine, really. He hasn’t anything to say to her either, knows talking to her right now would be pointless. So instead he approaches her silently, looks her over to ensure she’s okay. 

Carrie still doesn’t look up at him but he can tell she’s trying to stop the tears, summon her anger. And as much as there’s nothing to say to her, Quinn finds himself wanting to talk with her, to explain. 

“I’m sorry about Aayan,” he finally says, trying to tread carefully. Obviously it’s a touchy subject between them but all that shit is in the past now and he thinks she’s suffered enough for the shit that she pulled. 

She doesn’t respond but does look up at him suspiciously before another wave of emotion crashes all over her face and the tears start to flow harder again. 

“Yeah right,” she sneers through sobs. “As if you give a shit.” 

The thing is he actually does. Wants to wrap her up in his arms, let her cry it all out. Which is so unlike him Quinn almost groans at the thought, admonishes himself for his weakness. 

Really he should just walk back out, give her some space. But when he thinks about just leaving her there, sad and alone, he finds he just can’t. 

So instead he steps closer, puts his hands on her shoulders. Feels her body heaving with the force of her emotions, feels a shudder as his hands make tentative contact.

Carrie doesn’t react right away and for a split second he thinks she’s going to let him in. But then she snaps her head up, looks at him with rage in her eyes and tries to squirm out of his grasp. 

Quinn reacts automatically, grips her shoulders tighter, tries to pull her in as she shakes her arms free, gives him a hard shove and a dirty look. 

“I said, fuck off,” she repeats, arms crossed over her chest again. 

And somewhere in his rational mind, Quinn knows he should just go, has known it from the start. But now he’s also lost control of his emotions, just wants to hold onto her, find a way to fix it all. 

So he reaches out for her again, comes in close just as she lashes out, wildly throws a fist and hits him hard in the mouth. Quinn immediately tastes blood, feels his lip start to swell. And it’s enough to stun him for a moment, make him let go. 

Carrie is looking at him wildly, still teary and red-faced. Her arms are folded over her chest once more, her expression is defiant, enraged. 

And this time Quinn takes the hint, tells himself she’s made it pretty fucking clear she wants nothing to do with him. He’s surprised to find that he’s not angry with her at all, that he still just feels sad, worried. But obviously she doesn’t want any of that from him, just glares at him like he’s the enemy, fires missiles at him from her eyes.

So in the end there’s nothing he can do but do as she demands, walks away from her bloody and battered as usual.

*

Carrie finally finishes with the angry tears a little while after Quinn leaves, feels emotionally spent but physically pent up, needing release. Hitting Quinn hadn’t been quite enough, though it had been really fucking satisfying at the time. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been warned, she thinks he must have seen it coming. 

She still feels the burn thinking about him, fire at the base of her neck. Can’t believe he’d been stupid enough to come into her office after all that, wonders what the hell he was thinking. 

Fuck, she finds herself wondering that a lot lately, Carrie thinks. Sometimes she just doesn’t get him at all, finds him infuriating. And it makes her forget those times when she realizes they are too much the same, why she relies on him. 

Right now all Carrie wants is to fight, hurt, kill. Anyone in her way, anyone trying to keep her from the truth. She wants to be ruthless, cold hard steel. Eliminate all enemies, do her fucking job. 

Carrie looks around her office, adrenaline still pulsing through her. She needs to think, move, do something. Aayan is dead and it’s her fucking fault. Three garbage bags all that’s left of a boy that was going to be a doctor, that just wanted a chance. 

Suddenly she grabs one of the garbage bags, rips it open. Dumps everything onto the floor, makes a satisfying mess. 

There’s actual garbage, some clothes, photos. Mostly Aayan’s stuff he got from school, all the things he thought he was taking with him to London. 

Carrie pauses, doesn’t touch anything. Isn’t sure she can do this right now but feels the need to do something. And maybe she will find some sort of answer in his possessions, some inspiration on where else she can look. Yet all she can do is stare at the pile of his things, think how she sent him to his death. 

*

Hours later she is still there sitting in the dark, holed up with garbage tossed everywhere, her emotions forever teetering between anger and guilt. By the sounds of it everyone else left the office long ago, have gone to sleep as if it’s just another night. But Carrie can’t stand the idea of her sterile embassy quarters, her cold empty bed. Especially surrounded by the remains of the safehouse, sitting amidst its musty smells. 

So she stays in her office, huddled on the floor. Knees to her chest, dying for a cigarette. 

And even though she’s totally drained, badly needs some rest, she can’t close her eyes without seeing it all again. The bullet blowing through Aayan’s head, his lifeless body falling to the ground. 

It still hurts every time, the knowledge that she got another person killed. And then she failed to take Haqqani down, maybe missed her one shot. But what’s done is done and Carrie’s over the crying, ran out of tears long ago. Really she just wants the next day to start, needs to get out of the embassy, try and figure out what the fuck went wrong. But there’s still hours until morning, a long time to be alone with her pounding thoughts. 

She wishes again for a cigarette, thinks it would take the edge off her headache, at least give her something to do. But there’s none in the office, not a single smoke found in an earlier frantic search, nothing to drink either. 

Carrie sighs, leans her head back against the sofa. Closes her eyes for a moment, almost manages to quiet her mind for a few seconds before she hears footsteps, sees a light flicker on in the hallway. 

She watches anxiously as the figure approaches; tells herself to breathe, be calm. It’s probably just someone who forgot their phone, definitely not someone looking for her. No one even knows she’s still in her office because she ignored everyone that came to the door after she kicked Quinn out. 

But of course whoever it is walks right up to her office, tries to shine a flashlight to see through the window in the door. And suddenly Carrie realizes this might be significant, that there could be a mole in the embassy, trying to access her office. 

She hears the doorknob jiggle, then there’s a quiet metallic scraping before the door clicks open and a light shines in her eyes just as she aims her weapon, prepares to fire. 

“Jesus, Carrie,” Quinn says. “What the hell are you doing here sitting in the dark?” 

A wave of relief washes over her at the sound of his voice, immediately followed by a backlash of anger, irritation. 

“Better question, why hell are you breaking into my office in the middle of the night?” she fires right back, wondering what possible excuse he could give. 

Quinn turns off the flashlight, flips on the light, leaving them both blinking uncomfortably for a moment as their eyes adjust. 

Carrie watches as he gets his first good look at the disaster in her office, all the garbage and debris everywhere. And she thinks she knows what he’s going to say, that he’s going to tell her she’s gone off the deep end. 

But in the end Quinn just gives her that irritating concerned look, walks up and calmly takes her weapon from her, resets the safety as he puts it down. 

“I was looking for you,” he says. “You weren’t in your quarters.” 

And it’s infuriating that he still won’t fuck off, no matter what she does. She doesn’t want him to look for her, try to help. It’s his fucking fault the whole thing isn’t already over, with just one big hole in the ground. 

When she doesn’t answer for awhile he sits down beside her, close enough she can feel heat coming off of him. 

“You can talk to me when you’re ready,” he says calmly. “But you should get some sleep.” 

Carrie huffs in response, can’t imagine being able to sleep with everything that’s on her mind, doesn’t want to ever be ready to talk to him. Looks away from Quinn, tries to pretend he’s not inches away from her, watching her with worried eyes. 

“At least get out of here,” Quinn suggests. “Lay down, rest for a bit.” 

Carrie shakes her head even though she knows he has a point. Sitting amongst pictures of Aayan, all that’s left of his existence, is not improving her state of mind. But she likes being amongst the chaos, especially when that’s what’s going on in her head. The idea of rest or sleep is absurd, impossible. 

She thinks she can outlast him by refusing to talk to him, barely acknowledging his presence. Sits and looks at the garbage, tries to pretend he’s not there. 

Minutes tick by in their silent impasse, and as much as she tries to ignore him, Carrie can feel his eyes on her, the weight of his concern. And she thinks he has no fucking right to be worried about her, not after he overstepped his bounds, countermanded her orders.

After what seems like a long time Quinn finally stands up and Carrie feels a surge of relief, thinks she’s finally won. But instead of leaving, he turns to face her and reaches into his pocket. Takes out a pack of cigarettes, opens it up to reveal a few left. 

“I’ll give you one if you let me take you home,” he says, giving her a tired look. 

Somehow he always manages to surprise her, remind her that he knows her better than she thinks. Because she really wants that cigarette, maybe even wants to go to her room. And Quinn’s giving her a way out, a way to save some face. 

So Carrie scowls, gives him a pissed off look before reaching for the smokes, letting him pull her up off the floor. 

*

She lets him take her out to the roof for a silent cigarette, stares out into the dark city, her mind obviously still deep in everything that’s happened. 

Quinn’s fine with the quiet, knows she’s still too full of anger to talk to him. And he isn’t there to renew the battle, just wants to get her through a tough night, let her know he’s still there. 

So they smoke without a word, settling into the satisfying burn of the tobacco, the relief of a small sin. And when the cigarettes are done, Carrie gives him an irritated look, as if she’s just remembered she agreed to let him take her home. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods towards the door, silently leads her back inside. Carrie is surprisingly cooperative, does not say anything, put up a fight. Which is worrisome in its own way but not something he wants to question at the moment. 

Again, without speaking, he walks her to her quarters, unlocks her door for her, partially to remind her he has a key, that he can check on her if necessary. But Carrie doesn’t appear to notice, seems to have slipped into a pliable exhaustion. Walks into her apartment and looks around in a daze. Finally turns to face him and scowls, looks around anxiously, seemingly unsure of what to do next. 

Quinn thinks that’s his cue to leave, that she’s remembered she’s pissed off at him, doesn’t want him around. He’s gotten her home and she seems relatively alright. So things have already gone better than expected and he doesn’t want to push his luck. 

“Goodnight, Carrie,” he says. “Try to get some rest.” 

Quinn turns to walk out the door, takes just one look back as he’s about to leave. Sees Carrie still just standing there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring blankly at her apartment.

For the millionth time that day he wonders what she is thinking, what the hell is going on in her head. She looks totally lost but he knows she’s still burning underneath, full of hellfire. And he knows he should just go, that she will be fine. But he’s already this far in, can’t ignore the worry in his chest.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks even though he’s pretty sure she wants nothing to do with him, will yell at him for even suggesting it. 

But Carrie doesn’t flip out, actually seems to be considering it. And then he thinks he sees the smallest of nods, a look of chagrin. 

“It’s so empty in here,” she says, barely a whisper. “I’m so alone.” 

Quinn thinks back to something Saul once said to him. That night Nazir took her, a night Quinn still comes back to often. He knows he came close to losing her then, never forgave himself for listening to Saul, not trusting his own instincts. 

She’s always been on her own, he’d said. 

Quinn knows it’s the truth, that they are both self-reliant, find it hard to trust. She is the most alone person he’s ever met and he’s never been sure if it’s deliberate or just a side effect of her disorder, her personality. 

The fucked up thing is that he wants to be there for her. After nearly a decade of resisting human connection, keeping himself away from the messiness of other people. He sees his own reflection in her, knows the pain of being alone for so long. 

So he hears what she’s saying, despite the anger and hurt between them. Knows it’s taken a lot for her to admit it, especially to him. 

Quinn makes no comment, just closes the door quietly and walks up to her. They will have to talk it out sometime but he knows there’s no words for that night. Instead, he approaches slowly, puts his arm around her shoulders and guides her to the couch, sits her down next to him. 

She’s shivering under his arm so he finds a blanket, tucks it over her. Then sits with her, surprised to feel her lean up against him. 

“You’re not alone, Carrie,” he finds himself muttering as her breath starts to calm, settle into an even pattern. 

Of course Carrie doesn’t reply, is probably telling herself that none of this is happening. But it’s enough that she asked, trusts him to be there. And as she falls asleep against his shoulder Quinn wonders how so much can change in a day, if she will return to hating him in the morning. 

But as he helps her sleepy stumble to bed and tucks her in, he knows it doesn’t matter. As angry as she might be, he will always be there for her. And it may be his fatal flaw but she makes him remember his humanity, reminds him she’s worth saving.


End file.
